


The Fate the Gods Wove Us

by amkatpet



Series: The Fates [1]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, Norse culture, Romance, Shieldmaiden, Slow Burn Romance, Vikings, redemption arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-08-15 14:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 75,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8060788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amkatpet/pseuds/amkatpet
Summary: A strange man arrives in her village. And the longer he stays, the more she suspects he is not all he seems. As feelings grow and truths come to light, their fate will intertwine into a bind she’s not sure she wants to break…An alternate fate for Erlendur, where in the fjords of Norway he finds meaning, contentment, and perhaps even love.





	1. The Stranger

“Why do we have to go out today? It is too cold for this!”

My sister’s voice resonates in my ears for what seems the hundredth time that afternoon. We are out by the stream, searching for any late winter plants that might get our flocks through until spring.

But it seems I picked a poor day to gather plants. The sun, which had warmed the fjords and helped to melt the worst of the snow, had drifted behind the clouds, and wind was blowing in from the west.

Jorunn kicks at the basket, which is not even half full. “Let’s go home, Brynja. I’m freezing!”

The wind had been getting stronger all day. I was cold too, even with my heavy wool cloak, but did not want to admit to Jorunn that she was right.

“There’s not much left to get” I insist. “We can go in a minute”.

Jorunn does not respond. It is unusual for her to miss a chance to speak, so I turn to her. She is staring at something downstream. I stand from where I was kneeling on the ground and move to look with her. At first, I think it is an animal. I take a few steps closer to try and make it out.

“Brynja, don’t!” Jorunn’s voice behind me is now pitched with nervousness. I stare ahead and realize what I am looking at is not an animal. It is a leather tunic, matted hair, and mud-stained boots.

“It’s a man!” I call over my shoulder. I hear Jorunn gasp, and a moment later she is peering at him beside me.

“Is he…dead?” she voices what I too am wondering.

I am afraid to check, but at the same time, we cannot leave him lying in a crumpled heap by stream. If he is alive, it won’t be for long, as he would not survive out in the cold. And if he is already dead, his body would attract animals.

“He is filthy” Jorunn wrinkles her delicate nose. “He doesn’t smell dead, though”.

I move forward cautiously, in case he moves. When I am at his side, close enough to touch him, I reach a hand out and place it on his neck. His skin is surprisingly warm, but clammy with sweat. The roughness of stubble scrapes at my fingertips, and I can make out a feeble pulse beneath the skin.

“He’s still alive! But he feels warm. I think he has a fever.”

He is lying on his stomach, sprawled out. I wonder if he simply collapsed. His head is tilted towards me, but half is pressed against the earth, the other half hidden by matted blond hair. I gently push his hair back to see his face, but it is smeared with mud and sweat.

“Go home and get some help. Bring them back here!” I tell my sister.

“What?” Her blue eyes widen. She glances down at the unconscious man next to me and sneers a bit. “Why? He probably won’t survive. Can’t we just leave him?”

“No!” My voice is louder and sharper than I intend, but my sister’s selfishness infuriates me sometimes. “He could die and that’s exactly why we have to help him. Now go, and hurry!”

Jorunn turns around sharply, auburn braids swinging. I can hear her grumbling, but when I glance over my shoulder, I see her break into a run in the direction of the house.

“Don’t worry” I say, though I am unsure whether I speak to myself or the man next to me.

I feel I have been sitting there forever before the sound of people interrupts the quiet woods. Jorunn has returned. Our brother-in-law, Elof, and one of the male slaves are with her. They carry a litter with them.

I move to the side so Elof can crouch next to the body. He runs his eyes over it without speaking. Finally, he turns to me. “You found him here?”

“Yes, well, Jorunn saw him first. I realized he was alive and sent her to get help. He was already unconscious when we saw him and he hasn’t moved since. I have no idea how long he’s been lying here”.

Elof nods and gestures to the slave to help him. I stand, my legs aching after kneeling so long, and move out of the way. I watch as they carefully turn the man over and move him to the litter.

“Gudrun is at the house” Elof says. “If she can’t help him…” His voice purposefully trails off.

I nod, knowing that this poor man’s chances of survival are not very high. But Gudrun is my elder sister and the best healer I know. To my knowledge, she’s never failed to heal anyone.

“She can” I insist, hoping I sound confident. I don’t want to think about burying some stranger. Elof grunts, but otherwise makes no reply.

Jorunn and I hurry ahead, while the men are slowed by their burden. At our father’s house, we find Gudrun standing at the table, prepping herbs. When the others enter, she hurries to help them unload the man onto a spare bedplace.

Gudrun lays her head against the man’s chest, then peers at his still face. “Where did you find him exactly?”

“In the woods, alongside the stream” I say, removing my cloak and hanging it by the door. “He wasn’t moving, but when I realized he was still alive I sent Jorunn for help”.

“I thought it would be better to just leave him there” Jorunn speaks from her bed, where she sits redoing her braids. Gudrun thrusts an iron pot in her direction.

“Make yourself useful and get some water heating” my elder sister says to my younger. Jorunn makes a face at her, but does as she’s told.

“What can I do?” I ask. I want to help, though I know better than to get in Gudrun’s way. Gudrun instructs me on some herbs to prepare that she thinks will lower his fever. I move to the table and start to work. These herbs remind me that we forgot the ones from the stream.

I don’t know how much time passes as my sisters and I tend this stranger. We give him herbs to lower his fever and clear the congestion in his chest. I take a bowl of warm water and a cloth and wipe the dirt from his face.

With that cleared away, I can get a better look at his appearance. I am surprised to realize he is not that much older than I, certainly no older than Gudrun, who will be twenty-four at the beginning of next winter. His blond hair is matted and falls past his shoulders. A short, scruffy beard lines his jaw. He has a fair complexion, with fine features and full lips. Something about his face makes me think of the elves in the stories I heard as a child.

Jorunn peers over my shoulder to look at him. Her face changes from the look of disgust and fear she had previously given him, to one of interest. “Hmm, underneath all the dirt he’s almost handsome”.

“Who is handsome?” Asta, our father’s mother, enters the room. She spends most of her time in the back of the longhouse spinning wool around the smaller firepit.

“The man we found in the woods” Jorunn replies now to her question. My grandmother glances down at him and frowns at us.

“This young man is ill, and only the gods know if he will live or not. You girls shouldn’t be eyeing him like a starving dog eyes a piece of meat”.

“We weren’t ‘eyeing’ “Jorunn starts to argue, but she is cut off.

“Come into the other room and let him rest. It is time for dinner to be started anyway”.

We move away from the bed to go prepare dinner. Our father has been out checking the pregnant ewes all day, preparing for the lambing that could start any time. When he comes in, as the sun has set, he stares at the still man sleeping in the corner. One exchanged look with his mother is all it takes for us to explain the situation.

When we finish the story, he simply nods and accepts a bowl of soup from Gudrun. She, Elof, and their two young children, Trygve and Kari, are going to stay the night since it has gotten so late. Gudrun will be available to tend to our strange guest and Elof is willing to help my father with the flocks. Asta, of course, is more than happy to watch her great-grandchildren.

When dinner is finished, I go back to the man’s bedside. I pull out my spinning whorl and pretend to spin while I study him more closely. Earlier, I had been so preoccupied with whether he would survive or not, I had not bothered to pay close attention to the rest of his appearance beyond his face and the mud.

He wears a blue tunic and black trousers underneath a rough brown cloak. The clothing is worn and stained, but the material is of good wool. He has well-made boots of leather and sealskin. What intrigues me most, though, is the sword at his hip. I had not noticed it before, but a sword belt wraps around his hips.

The pommel is crafted with gold; the grip of the sword and scabbard are both of the finest leather. Ornate silver tips the end of the scabbard to stop the blade from poking through. Some men in the area own swords, but none are as fine as this one. There are no true warriors on our farmstead or in the nearby village. Our people are just farmers. The men know enough of fighting to defend us and to go on short raids, but everyone is a farmer or craftsman.

I wonder about this man. How does he afford such a finely made sword and good clothing? Where did he come from? And why was he by the stream? I hope we will get some answers when—if—he wakes.

For now, I settle on the stool by his bed, and watch the light from the hearth flames flicker across his face. I can only voice my questions to the shadows.

“Who are you?”


	2. Awakening

Three days pass since Jorunn and I found the man by the stream. Thanks to Gudrun’s medicines, his fever breaks the day following his arrival, though he does not wake. He remains in a deep sleep, and I start to worry. I voice my fears to my grandmother. Gudrun, certain the man would not die since his fever broke, returned to her home in the village with Elof and the children.

Asta dismisses my worries. “Rest is what he needs. Let him sleep. When he wakes, he will be much better. His fever is gone, and he is no longer on the brink of death. Let him sleep”.

Even with that reassurance, I find myself continually checking on him throughout the day. The weather gives me plenty of excuse to remain inside. The night following our finding the young man, a strong storm passed through. Strong winds ripped branches from the trees and damaged the fences. Rain assaulted our fields for the next few days.

On the morning of the fourth day, the sun chooses to shine. I am out tending the goats. My father is preoccupied with the sheep herds as the lambing began two days before. Four of the ewes had already been delivered; two of them bore twins. So far, all the lambs survived, but I knew my father worried the foul weather and damp would harm them.

I have just finished the milking when I hear a scream come from the house. I am certain from the high-pitch it is Jorunn. I hurriedly set the buckets down and run to the house. Inside, Jorunn stands by the door, gaping at the bedplace where our guest had been lying.

It is empty.

Instead, he stands staring back at us. His face is pale. He sways then clutches at the wall with white knuckles. His eyes are bright and alert, though. I see a look of confusion cross his face as he looks from my sister to me.

“Where am I?” He speaks in Danish, but I am unsure of his accent. There is sharpness in his voice, perhaps even a hint of anger.

I do not know why he would be angry. I try to speak as calmly as I can. “You’re at my father’s farm, just outside the village”. Our village is small and rather isolated, but merchants occasionally make their way to trade wares.

He stares at me, seemingly confused, so I do my best to explain. “You’re in Norway. We—my sister, Jorunn, and I—found you by the stream. You were unconscious and had a fever so we brought you here and took care of you. You’re welcome, by the way”.

I should not have added the last sentence, as it dripped with sarcasm, but I do not like the look on his face. He was staring at us with the same sneer Jorunn uses whenever she is displeased with something.

“I suppose I should thank you?” I cannot tell if he is sincere or not. The anger still tinges his voice.

“My name is Brynja” I say, hoping to ease the strange tension in the room. “What is your name?”

His lips part as if to speak, but then he hesitates. He is reluctant to say.

I don’t understand why he would be reluctant to tell us. But then I remember his fine clothes and sword. Something about this man does not want to add up.

“Erlendur”.

“What?”

“My name is Erlendur”.

Erlendur. A name that meant foreigner or stranger. It seemed appropriate. I am about to ask his patronymic when we are interrupted.

“You are awake”. Asta has come into the room. “How are you feeling?”

I realize I didn’t even think to ask how he was.

The man—Erlendur—is staring around the room, from Asta, to me, to Jorunn, who has been strangely quiet this whole time.

“I am fine. She”, here he points to me, “says she found me by a stream”.

“My granddaughter, Brynja. Yes, you were brought here several days ago. And so late in the winter. It really isn’t warm enough for travel yet”.

Erlendur turns his eyes from her and I can tell he does not want to answer.

The silence is interrupted by a loud growling noise. Erlendur clutches his stomach and I notice his cheeks turn pink. I try to hide a smile.

My grandmother seems the only one unembarrassed or amused. “You’ll have to forgive us; we are all so surprised at your awakening we’ve forgotten everything else. Of course you must be hungry. Brynja, get the man some food. Jorunn, tend to the fire; it’s getting cold again”.

Jorunn snaps out of her gaping and hurries to the hearth. I gather a bit of leftovers from breakfast and bring it to Erlendur, who is still standing uncertainly by his bed. He watches the activity with casual interest.

I hand the food over to him and force myself to look into his face, though not directly into his eyes. I realize he is only a little taller than I, and rather thin. When he was asleep, he had an innocent, peaceful look to him. Awake, he reminds me of a wolf.

He takes the food from me, and his fingers brush against mine. Whether intentional or not, I don’t know. An unfamiliar sensation erupts in my stomach and a tremor runs through my body.

If he notices my trembling, he does not remark on it. I quickly turn away before he can even thank me, and I rush outside. I hope the sun and fresh air will bring me back to my senses. I can still feel his rough hand against mine, though the touch only lasted a moment.

I hope the stranger leaves soon.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

Erlendur remains inside, as Asta insists he still needs rest to fully recover. I am grateful he does so. I cannot quite put my finger on it, but something about him makes me uneasy. And yet, I cannot help but wonder about him. I avoid the house as much as possible that day so I do not have to see him. Perhaps by avoiding him, I can keep him off my mind.

There is plenty to keep me occupied. Life on a farm is hard, the days are long, and the gods are not always kind. Every day, I wake at sunrise and tend the hearth fire. It will need brought up from where it was left to smolder during the night, or completely rebuilt if it went out. Once the fire is burning, breakfast is made.

As the eldest unmarried woman in the house, much of the work of running the household falls to me. Jorunn helps as well with the spinning and caring for the herds. We can only afford to have a few slaves. They are given tasks including milking the cows and goats, cleaning the animal pens, collecting firewood, and applying fertilizer to the fields.

Following the morning meal, my day is spent in the dairy skimming cream, churning butter, and making cheese and skyr. Or I would be managing the stores of grains, preserving the fruits and vegetables, and brewing ale and mead. There is always an endless amount of housekeeping—sweeping the floors, washing, scrubbing, dusting, changing the bed linens—and I delegate these tasks to the servants whenever I can. Any spare time is spent spinning thread, weaving cloth, sewing, patching, and embroidering clothes. I always carry my spindle with me, so I can never be idle.

I spend my day trying to stay as busy as possible. Eventually, the sun begins to lower, and I am forced back to the house to prepare the evening meal.

Erlendur is back in his bedplace. He is still pale and he looks tired, despite all the sleep he’s had. I feel a twinge of compassion for him. I should not have been sarcastic towards him this morning. He woke in strange place with people he did not know; of course he would be wary. That did not explain, though, why he seemed so angry.

“Are you feeling better?” I ask as I chop root vegetables and salted meat for stew.

“Yes. Do you think your grandmother would let me out of bed?”

I shrug. “If you think you are strong enough”.

The words are barely from my mouth when he swings his legs over the side and stands up. He does not seem as unsteady as he was this morning. He watches me work. I keep my head down so I do not have to look at him, but I can feel his eyes on me.

He does not speak to me again as I prepare dinner. Jorunn has come in to help me, and she chatters away about some gossip she heard from people in the village. I listen with half an ear as we work. The rest of my mind keeps wandering back to the man in the room.

When dinner is prepared, our father Arnor comes in from the fields and Asta shuffles in from the other room. We all gather around the hearth-side table to eat. It is a quiet meal; my father making the occasional comment about the good fortune the gods have given us so far for our flocks.

I smile to myself. I am pleased my father is optimistic about his herds, though I know how quickly things can change. The gods can revert their blessings in an instant.

“So how did you come to be in the woods? Are you from around here?” Jorunn cuts through the silence. Everyone’s eyes turn towards our guest.

Erlendur takes a drink and diverts his eyes away. He does not want to answer anything. The questions hang uncomfortably in the air.

“Jorunn,” Asta says, “It is rude to ask such questions to a guest”.

Jorunn shrugs and goes back to her meal. I gaze at Erlendur from across the table. I am curious about this man, in spite of myself.

“I am need of help for my farm” my father cuts through the awkwardness. “If you would be willing to stay a while—at least until the crops are planted—I would appreciate the extra hands”.

“And as you can see,” he gestures around the table, “I am a bit outnumbered by the women”.

I gape at my father. How could he expect this man to stay? We know nothing about him. It is one thing to take in an ill stranger, but this goes beyond the offer of hospitality.

Erlendur looks up from his plate and stares at my father. “You are asking me to stay?”

“If you want. I understand, of course, if you need to be leaving”.

“No” Erlendur states. At first, I think he is refusing. I am not sure whether to be relived or disappointed.

“I mean, I don’t have anywhere to go” he finishes.

My father looks hopeful. “Then you will stay?”

“Father,” I force myself to speak up. I know it is none of my business who my father chooses to work on his land, but all the same. “I don’t know if it would be a good idea for this man to…”

Both father and Erlendur turn to me. My father is waiting for me to continue, but I trail off, unnerved by their gazes. Mainly by Erlendur, whose glare seems to be challenging me.

“I just mean, I don’t know if it would be good for him to continue sleeping in here, with your daughters”. I mumble. I am annoyed with myself for losing my nerve.

Arnor laughs. “My daughter is always so concerned with how things on the farm are run. I’m sure we can arrange something appropriate, daughter”.

Erlendur speaks. “I admit I don’t know much about farming…And your daughters,” here he looks towards me, “they did save my life. Consider this repaying the debt”.

My father nods. “Good. It is settled then”. He extends his hand across the table.

Erlendur hesitates a moment, then reaches out to grasp it.

It seems our stranger will be staying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading this story! Feedback is always appreciated.


	3. Ambush

The last of the snow is melting. Spring begins to arrive with bursts of color as the fjords reappear from their snowy coverings. Bright green leaves and blooming flowers are forming on the trees.

The lambing continues into the first few weeks of spring and my father seems relieved at the healthy flock. In too many years past, we’ve struggled on meager amounts of meat and wool to get us through the winter.

I am surprised at the help Erlendur has been. He has taken quite an interest in the farming and seems willing to learn. I guess from the clothes he wore, the sword he possesses, and his lack of farming knowledge that he comes from a well-off family. Perhaps he is the younger son of a wealthy landowner, with no hope of an inheritance, and he had gone out to make his own way in the world.

No one asks Erlendur about his past and he does not bring it up. Overall, he is a quiet man, staring more than he talks. I wish he would speak a bit more. I can’t read him at all, and it makes his presence frustrating.

A month after Erlendur arrives, I reach my eighteenth year. One’s birthday is never cause for celebration; simply a record of having lived another year. But for me it is a frustrating reminder that I am another year older and without marriage prospects. I have heard of girls as young as thirteen becoming brides and being mothers as early as fourteen or fifteen. Both my grandmother and mother were married at fifteen and mothers at sixteen.

But I have little time to wallow in self-pity. Life on a farm is already busy enough, and spring means an even greater amount of work. New animals are being born, and the fields must be plowed and seeds planted if we are to have a good harvest in time for winter.

This morning, as always, I wash and dress and braid my dark hair off of my face, before starting another long day of chores.

I am the only one of my siblings who has our father’s black hair and deep blue eyes. Gudrun and Jorunn’s eyes are blue as well, but a lighter hue and they both have our late mother’s auburn hair and fair complexion. Neither of them ever seems to blemish from the sun or wind, while I simply have to stand outside a moment for the elements to turn my cheeks red.

Today, the men are re-thatching the stable roof. The dried straw had taken a harsh beating from the long winter weather and needs replaced if the animals are to stay dry and comfortable. It is especially important the young lambs and kids are protected.

Erlendur is up on the roof with Elof. Being the village carpenter, Elof came by this morning with wooden beans we plan to use on the boat-house. He has offered to stay a bit and help with the thatching. The farm never seems to have enough hands to work it.

Elof and Erlendur have been getting on quite well, as if they’ve known each other forever. Erlendur seems impressed by Elof’s skills in carving, and Elof has taken the time to teach him a bit. Both men are silent, contemplative types; they seem to have some understanding of their crafts that don’t require words.

Erlendur has shown us his own skills; I must admit, he is smart and innovative. Within a few weeks of his arrival, he had helped to rebuild fences and gates, and had even modified the old plow so it could provide a better turn of the soil.

I am impressed, despite the uncertainties I had of him. I find it strange, though, that he could have good clothes and an expensive weapon, with no knowledge of farming, yet he is skilled and takes to the task easily. While I am still wondering about who he really is, I can’t deny he has been an asset.

Shouting carries down from the fields, drawing me from my thoughts. A couple of men are running towards us, waving their arms. They are shouting something I can’t make out.

Then, over the horizon, I see them. A few dozen men, a few on horseback, and all of them armed with axes, spears, and bows.

Two of the men mounted urge their horses forward after the runners. Arrows are released, and with a sickening noise, they sink into the backs of the running men. Both fall, dead before they hit the ground.

My heart drops to my stomach as the invaders make their way towards the farm. Everyone is noticing them; tools are dropped, men rush to grab spear and axes to meet them, women drag the children inside. I notice Erlendur out of the corner of my eye; he has gotten off the roof and is running towards the house. Is he going to help us or flee?

Chaos has erupted over the farmstead. The sheep run franticly around their pen, horses stomp from inside the stables, and the dogs bark and snarl, straining against their grasped collars.

I make my way towards the house to warn Asta and Jorunn. Blood pounds in my ears as I run. I hope they have heard the alarms, and have hidden themselves away.

The invaders are coming down on us. I watch in horror as men are cut down. The women scream and shield their children. Some of them are being dragged from the homes by the hair. This invasion is not random, I am certain. Whoever sent these men intends to make us slaves and steal our livestock.

By some grace of the gods, I am able to dive behind some crates for cover, uninjured and unnoticed. I am ashamed for hiding like a coward, but what can I do? I am no fighter, and I cannot make it to the house without being stopped or killed.

I look to the house and pray to all the gods my family is not harmed. For now, the building doesn’t seem to have been damaged, but I don’t see my father, sister, or grandmother.

But then, I see Erlendur burst out the door. He is carrying one of the shields we had hanging on the wall. His sword, its naked blade gleaming in the sun, is in his other hand. The fiercest snarl I’ve seen on him crosses his face.

I can only stare as Erlendur meets the invaders head on. He swings his sword with such precision; his foes all fall at his feet.

Erlendur slashes one man down, then turns on another. His fierceness seems to have roused the other men from their fear. Armed with spears, axes, and hunting bows, the men of the farmstead begin to overpower our invaders.

There is a heart-stopping moment when I see Erlendur slip in the blood-soaked grass, and I think for a moment he is going to die. But he braces himself, catching his enemy’s blade against his shield, and using the weight to thrust himself up and drive his sword through the man’s chest.

The sound of children crying distracts me from the rest of the fighting. I turn and see across the yard are two little girls. They cannot be more than five or six. I recognize them as the daughters of a tenant.

The fighting is still going on and I don’t know if it’s safe to leave my shelter. But I cannot be a coward and leave those two children alone and unguarded. Taking a deep breath, I glance around me to see if it is clear. Then, before I can falter, I break from behind the crates and run to the girls as fast as I can.

I run so hard I trip and sprawl in the dirt. There is a sharp pain in my left hand. I feel a warm liquid on my palm. I know I am bleeding, but there is no time to worry about it. I scramble to my feet, dirt and straw coating my skirt, and make my way to the girls.

I grab them and pull them both close to me. We get behind a wicker wall. They cling to me, tears staining their faces.

“Don’t cry. Don’t be afraid. We’ll be alright”. I whisper into their hair. I am terrified myself, but I still try to comfort them.

I can feel blood running down my forearm. I glance at the wound and see a cut on my hand. I must have hit it on a dropped weapon. The cut is bleeding, but doesn’t seem to be too deep. I press my hand against the cloth of my skirt to stop the blood.

The sounds of the fighting outside seem to be lessening. I pray it is because we have subdued the attackers and they are fleeing. The sound of someone coming towards us startles me. A ruddy faced man with a red beard is looking down on us. He is dressed in leather and fur and carries a long, two-handed axe.

The only weapon I have close to me is the small knife I use for cutting herbs and tasks around the farm. I pull it from the leather pouch I wear on my belt with my free hand.

The man with the axe moves towards us. Even as filled with fear as I am, beneath that, I feel a sudden anger; anger at these men for attacking us and harming us.

Driven by this, I scramble forward, forcing the girls to stay back as well. I lunge forward without thinking and drive the little knife into the man’s thigh with as much strength as I can muster.

He howls in pain and swings one hand. The back of his palm strikes across my cheek and I fall back into the dirt. My head throbs where he struck me. I can hear screaming, but it seems so far away.

The axe-man is standing over me. He rips my little knife from his thigh like it was a small thorn, and tosses it away.

I try to get up, but cannot. My head aches and the rest of my body does not seem to want to move. I brace myself for a death blow, or worse.

I hear the sound of metal swinging through the air. There is a terrible noise and a sword tip protrudes from the man’s chest through the back. He staggers, wide-eyed, and drops his axe.

For a moment, he sways on his feet. Then, the sword is ripped out through his back and the man drops facedown beside me.

I look up, blinking against the pain in my head, and see Erlendur standing there. Blood streaks his face and is in his hair. His hands are covered in blood as well. The blade of his sword is dark red.

I am not sure whether I fainted or not, but the next thing I am aware of is being back in the longhouse. Asta is fussing over my hand. Jorunn sits on her bed, making bandages out of spare linen. She is paler than I’ve ever seen her.

There are footsteps at the door and my father and Erlendur both come in. My father looks exhausted and he carries a bloody axe. Erlendur is still covered in blood as well, but his sword is now sheathed.

I find my voice. “Is everyone alright?”

My father shakes his head. “We lost a few men from the fighting. We managed to save any women they would have had as slaves”. He closes his eyes for a moment. “We should thank the gods it was not worse”.

Asta nods her head in agreement. “Arnor, do you know who lead the attack?”

“I’m…not sure”. He shakes his head again, and moves to the basin to wash off the blood.

I sense he knows, or at least suspects, but he does not want to say. One look at my grandmother’s face tells me the same thing.

My father pats his face dry with a strip of Jorunn’s linen. He looks at her and me. “Are you girls alright?”

Jorunn nods. “I was in here with grandmother the whole time. We could hear all the noise. I was so scared…” She starts to tremble and our father pulls her to his chest and holds her to him.

“My little girl,” he says, stroking her hair. “You don’t need to be afraid now”. He releases her and turns to me. “Brynja, how is your hand?”

“It’s fine, Father; just a cut.” Then I remember. “There were two girls! Are they okay?”

My father nods. “I know the ones. They’re shaken, but they’ll survive. They weren’t hurt”.

I breathe a sigh of relief. “There was a man with an axe. Erlendur killed him”.

We turn to where Erlendur was standing and find the space empty. He is gone.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………….

That night, after wounds are tended, and the fallen are buried, we build a bonfire and pour ale to toast them and our success. It is a strange gathering. We mourn for those we’ve lost, worry for the injured, and yet we celebrate our survival and thank the gods for our loved ones who still live.

I spot Erlendur in the crowd. He has washed the blood away and has changed into a clean tunic. His sword still hangs from his waist.

I fill two cups with ale and make my way to him.

“You disappeared earlier” I say.

He turns to me. The fire casts shadows on his face. “I went to get cleaned up”.

“Oh”. I stare down at the cups in my hand, then remember why I brought them. I hold one of the cups out to him.

He eyes it warily. “What is this?”

“A thank you. For saving us…me, I mean”.

He does not take the cup. “We are even now”.

“Even?”

“You saved my life. Today, I saved yours. We are even”.

I nod and hold out the cup again. “I suppose we are”.

Erlendur slowly reaches out and takes the cup from me. Our fingers brush again, much like when we first spoke, but I am sure this time is intentional. The knotting feeling in my stomach returns and I feel a warm flush in my cheeks. I hope I can pass it off as the warmth of the fire.

Erlendur brings the cup to his lips and drinks from it. All the while, his eyes stay on my face. I try to meet his gaze. After a moment though, I begin to feel uncomfortable and look away.

I turn my back and walk away as casually as I can. I do not understand the fluttering feelings I get when we touch. I remember hearing stories as a child where the women gained bright eyes and pink cheeks as they looked on the faces of their beloved.

I scoff inwardly. It is a ridiculous idea that I could develop feelings for Erlendur, even if he has saved my life. I barely know him.


	4. Going Viking

A few days after the attack, I make my way into the village. I go first to Gudrun’s, where I fill her in on the details on the invasion, and assure her we are all fine. She fusses over my hand, and gives me a salve to help it heal faster.

Once I leave my sister’s, I head towards the blacksmith’s forge. Ebran and his brother Ukkr are the village blacksmiths, and they are friends of my father. Ebran’s son, Gorm, is a few years my senior, and will take the smithy over one day.

Gorm is the only one in the smithy today. He is bent over an anvil, rhythmically banging with his hammer.

“Good morning, Gorm,” I call over the noise.

He hears me and looks up. “Hello, Brynja. What are you doing here?” He smiles brightly.

I have always liked Gorm. He is tall, with broad shoulders and bright blue eyes. His long hair is often tied back off his face and a short dark beard lines his jaw.

“I came to see your sisters, actually”. The words are barely from my mouth when two figures rush out of the neighboring house and cross the yard to me.

I greet my friends, Halla and Freydis. They are twin sisters, almost completely identical, and they have been some of my closest friends in the village since childhood.

They are a few years younger than I. Halla, the firstborn of the twins, possesses a calmer disposition. Freydis is more outgoing and, dare I say, reckless. Both are sweet-faced, with blonde hair, but Halla’s is curlier. It is really the only way to tell them apart.

I embrace each of them in turn. They move to stand on either side of me and the three of us make are way through the village.

“We heard about the attack on you farm” Freydis says as we walk.

“Is everything alright?” Halla asks.

“We lost some men—tenants, slaves. I’ve been visiting with the widows and helping them the best I can. It’s hard for them. My father keeps saying we’re all lucky it wasn’t worse”.

“Your hand!” Halla points at the bandage around my palm.

“It’s nothing. Just a cut”.

“The whole attack just sounds so terrible,” Halla shakes her head. Her pretty face is lined with discomfort. “Let’s talk about something else”.

“How about Sindri?” Freydis teases. I have not met the man, but I know he has dabbled in trade and done well for himself.

Halla looks embarrassed at the mention of her betrothed. “He is a good man, and well enough off. I would be stupid to turn him down”. She twists a blonde curl around her finger. “Is there anyone for you yet?”

“Me?” I am startled by her question. “No, not yet. But it’s fine”.

“It is a pity you wouldn’t accept Gorm. He is a good man”. Halla almost sounds accusatory.

Two years before, Gorm had made me an offer of marriage. I had, perhaps foolishly, turned him down, stating that while I cared about him, my feelings were for a brother. I had not even turned sixteen then, and I was unable to imagine him as a husband.

I manage to keep my voice even. “He is a good man. But I have known him my whole life, and he feels more like an older brother. I want to marry someone I love and respect, but not in that way. In any case, he is marrying someone else”.

“Well, I don’t see how either of you could care about marriage!” Freydis states. “I’ve told our father, I’m never getting married! Why should I have to spend my life taking care of some man and bearing him sons? I want to get away from this village. I want some adventure, like in the stories!”

I shake my head. Freydis makes this speech often. She has always been fascinated by stories of warriors and shieldmaidens. I have heard her father, Ebran, state that with her personality, it is a disappointment she was not born a boy. Halla is well-behaved, intelligent, and faithful. She will make Sindri a great wife.

“There is nothing wrong with being a wife and mother!” Halla argues. “It’s just as honorable and challenging as being a warrior!”

“What would you know about being a warrior? Have you met one?” Freydis counters.

“I have”. I interrupt before they get into an argument. It amazes me how the sisters can look alike, yet be so different. Now, they both stare at me.

“When?” they ask in unison.

I flush, suddenly wishing I had said nothing. I move to sit out of the way of the road. My friends settle in the grass next to me.

“When?” Freydis repeats. “Where?”

Halla joins in. “Was he tall? Handsome? Did he have a sword?”

“He has a sword. He’s not that tall, though, I suppose he’s handsome…” I feel myself reddening and Halla giggles.

Freydis continues to press me for details. I finally give in.

“His name is Erlendur. He helped fight off the men who invaded out farm”. I settle into the grass and explain from the beginning, from finding him at the stream. My friends hang on to each of my words.

Freydis questions me about his fighting. Halla is more interested in his looks and personality. I answer their questions as best I can. I tell Freydis his fighting was impressive to watch and how he saved me during the invasion. And I tell Halla about his wolf-like sneer and his silence.

When I am done, Freydis’ face is glowing with excitement, though Halla seems unimpressed.

“I wouldn’t mind meeting him,” Halla says. “But I think I’ll stick with Sindri”.

Freydis scoffs. “Why would you want a boring merchant, when you could have a warrior?” A dreamy look crosses her face. “Do you think he’d teach me to fight?”

I think about it for a moment. I doubt Erlendur would. “I don’t know,” I say slowly. “My father’s been keeping him busy on the farm…”

“Well, we’ll just have to find a reason to visit”. Freydis winks playfully.

I laugh. “You both know you are welcome anytime,” I say. “But I don’t think my father will appreciate you distracting his workers! At least, not until the planting is finished”.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

A few days later we gather in the fields behind the village. The evening of the bonfire, Erlendur had made a good point to my father about the men needing more training if we are to withstand another attack. My father brought the idea up to the villagers.

The idea spread like fire. Soon, a small training camp was set up behind the village, and talks of training spread to raiding. Every evening meal over the last few days has been filled with discussions of past raids. And now the men are planning a raid west.

I cannot grasp the sudden change Erlendur’s ideas have brought upon our lives. Before, we were simple farmers, with only the occasional hit-and-run raid. Now, it seems as if we are preparing for a war.

I shake my head as I watch the training. I recall the fear and anger I felt during our attack. I would, of course, want to defend myself, but I cannot imagine ever killing someone, even in self-defense.

Freydis and Halla have slipped away to watch with me. We giggle over the young boys pretending to be great warriors.

Freydis picks up one of the wooden swords and swings sit wildly. She pretends to fight with an imaginary attacker, then trips on the hem of her skirt and falls to the ground. The wooden sword drops from her hand. We all laugh at her sprawled in the dirt.

Her cheeks turn pink, but she laughs along with us. “Well, I won’t go to battle in a dress”.

Halla helps her sister to her feet. “You won’t go to battle at all because there’s no way Father will ever let you”.

Freydis makes a face. “I’ll find a way”.

I admire Freydis her courage and determination. Perhaps, with the right training, she has it in her to be a warrior. I know it is a path I could never take.

Erlendur speaks up from behind us. “My mother was a shieldmaiden”. I look over my shoulder to see him coming up to us. It seems an odd thing for him to say, given how he never speaks of himself or his past.

Freydis eyes brighten. “She was? Are you Erlendur? Brynja’s told us all about you!”

Erlendur turns his gaze to me. I quickly look away.

“I am,” he says to Freydis. “And you are?”

“I’m Freydis. This is my twin sister, Halla. We’re friends of Brynja’s. Our father, brother, and uncle are blacksmiths for the village. I plan on being a shieldmaiden one day”.

“You dream about it” Halla speaks up.

Freydis ignores her. “I’ve practiced with sticks and occasionally some weapons my father makes, when he’s not around of course”.

“What sort of weapons?” Erlendur asks.

“Just cheap swords and knives. Sometimes I get big sticks or farm tools and pretend they’re swords. I’m pretty good, I think”.

Erlendur picks up one of the practice weapons. “Care to prove it?”

Halla gasps, “Freydis, no!”

I am not sure if I should step in or not. I know how determined Freydis is to realize her dream, but I have seen Erlendur in action.

But Freydis is already stepping forward, the wooden sword and shield in her hands. I hold my breath as they circle one another. Freydis is fierce and strong for her size, but I doubt she is any match for an experienced fighter.

Erlendur steps forwards, feints to one side, then lunges from the other. Freydis barely blocks the blow with her shield.

She swings her sword at his head, but he sidesteps easily. They circle around each other again. This time, Freydis goes on the offensive, lunging at Erlendur, swinging her sword as hard as she can. I can see the fury and determination in her eyes to win. She has always been competitive.

Erlendur blocks her blows with his shield. In a swift movement, before she can strike again, he leaps forward, poking her in the stomach with the blunted tip. She gasps.

He doesn’t ease up on her. A strong blow from his shield into hers knocks her backwards into the dirt. Erlendur stands over her, pointing the wooden blade at her throat.

“Dead” he grins at her.

Freydis glares at him and she gets to her feet. She swipes at the dirt on her backside. Halla and I both watch, waiting for her to get angry.

“You can’t wield a weapon once, and then call yourself a shieldmaiden. It can take years of training just to develop the strength to fight” Erlendur says to her.

Freydis bristles against his comments and I step forward in case she decides to swing at him.

Erlendur speaks again, before any of us can react. “You show some promise though. I can tell you’ve got the heart for it”.

I am stunned. I have never heard Erlendur give out compliments before. A part of me is proud for my friend. Another part of me is, strangely, jealous. I cannot fathom why I would feel this though, and try to push the strange feeling aside.

Freydis grins at Erlendur. “Do you think you could teach me?” she asks, breathless.

Erlendur cocks his head to one side and studies her. I expect him to say no.

“Once you find yourself some trousers. You can’t fight in a skirt”.

I think my jaw may have dropped in response. Freydis squeals and leaps forward. She flings her arms around Erlendur’s neck. Erlendur stiffens and peels her away, grimacing.

“Freydis, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Halla comes over to her sister. “And if our father—“.

“Oh, please don’t tell him! Halla, this is my dream! It’s just some lessons”.

Halla and I exchange a glance. I shrug, not knowing what to say.

“Alright,” Halla sighs. Freydis hugs her, then drags her off in search of some trousers.

“Do you think we still have any of Gorm’s old ones?” I hear Freydis asking as they walk away.

I am left standing alone with Erlendur.

“Thank you,” I say. “You have no idea how much this means to her. It’s been her dream ever since we were children”.

Erlendur says nothing as he gathers up the wooden swords and shields. He takes them over to a workbench and places them out of the way.

“My mother was a shieldmaiden. Some of the fiercest warriors I’ve known have been women. And I meant what I said about her having the heart for it”.

“It’ll be a lot of work for you, training her. She’s very stubborn”.

“I noticed,” Erlendur says dryly. He motions me over to the workbench. “Do you want to see what else I’ve been working on?”

I move over to the bench and examine Erlendur’s work. It is a weapon, one unlike any weapon I have ever seen.

It looks like a bow, but is smaller and runs horizontally, rather than vertically. It is attached to a long wooden beam. A bird skull is on the top.

“What is it?” I ask.

“It’s a crossbow. It’s a weapon I discovered in Frankia. I took a liking to it and brought some back with me. Of course, I lost my old one, so I’ve made this”.

“How does it work?” I ask, intrigued. We move over to where some targets have been stationed for archery practice.

Erlendur loads one of the arrows and hoists the weapon to his shoulder. I remain silent as he aims. In a movement so fast I can barely follow, the arrow is released and strikes the center of the target.

I am impressed. “I can’t believe you built this!”

Erlendur shrugs. “It’s alright. I need to do some modifications. The range could be much better”.

“Can I try it?” I ask. I am intrigued by this weapon.

Erlendur looks at me in surprise. “You want to try it?”

I hesitate. “Yes,” I say, before I can change my mind. It is, after all, just a target. It is not as if I am going to shoot a person.

I step forward next to Erlendur. My stomach clenches with nerves. I take the crossbow from him. It is heavier than I thought it would be. Erlendur stands behind me as I lift the weapon to my shoulder as he had it.

“Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to fire. Keep your hand like this”. He guides my hands into the right position. He indicates the bird skull he has attacked to the top. “Look through the skull. Use it as a scope to see your target”.

I peer through the eye hole, squinting to see. The weapon is heavy against my shoulder and my arms quiver a bit. Erlendur is standing so close behind me I can practically feel him. He puts his arms around from behind to help me hold the weapon.

“Now, I’m just helping you hold it,” he says. I can feel his warmth against me face. “Aim and when you’re ready, pull the trigger”.

I stare at the target, trying to center the arrow. When I feel close, I pull the trigger with my index finger as hard as I can.

The bolt shoots out so suddenly I nearly drop the bow in surprise. It flies too quickly for me to follow then hits the target. It is nowhere near the center, though, rather far off on the left side. Any farther and I would have missed completely.

I nervously turn to Erlendur. He eyes my hit and shrugs. “At least you hit the target”.

I hand the weapon back to him. “It’s impressive. I’m not sure it’s something I could ever use though”.

“What, no desire to be a shieldmaiden like your friend?” Erlendur says sarcastically.

“Don’t laugh at her dreams! I have no desire to be a shieldmaiden, but that doesn’t mean I can’t support her”.

“Of course not. Do you want to try again or are you done?”

I part of me would not mind practicing with it. Shieldmaiden or no, it would be useful to have some practical skill in defending myself, should we be attacked again. But I have other responsibilities.

“Perhaps another time” I say.

Erlendur shrugs and loads another arrow. I walk away in the direction of home. I cannot understand the feeling s I got when Erlendur complimented Freydis or made his offer to train her. I have never had a reason to truly be jealous of her. So why does the thought of her being around Erlendur make me uncomfortable?


	5. Hakon

Summer begins with sunny days and cool breezes from the coast. The men have taken to Erlendur’s idea of a raid. This will be the biggest raid the men of our village have been on in years. Most raids are they go on are short hit-and-runs up and down the coast.

Freydis has made time to train with Erlendur a few times a week. I have watched occasionally when I have time, with Halla digging her nails into my arm as they fight. Freydis’ skill has certainly improved under Erlendur’s guidance, but I have no idea if she’s ready for a raid.

I manage to push against the odd feelings of jealousy when I see them together. Freydis’ eyes shine when she’s fighting. Even Erlendur seems happier when he is swinging a sword or shooting her crossbow. They have something in common. And yet, this feeling of possessiveness, almost, hits me in the gut whenever I see them bright-eyed after a training session. I have to remain myself Erlendur is not an animal. The ancient law of any washed-up objects, or even people, belonging to whoever finds them does not apply here. Erlendur is not mine.

A week before the men plan to set sail, Freydis and I approach her father. I agreed to go with her when she asks his permission to join the raiding party. Halla has been busy planning for her wedding set for after the next harvest.

“I have been tumbling the words around in my head for days” Freydis whispers to me as we approach.

Freydis lifts her head and squares her shoulders. Her voice shakes only a little as she speaks. “Father, I want to go on the raid. I want to be a shieldmaiden! And I’ve been practicing; I’m good!”

Ebran looks up from his work. “Why do you want to be a shieldmaiden so much?”

“I want more life than this! I want adventure! Sometimes I wish I was born a man so no one could stop me! I think this is the destiny the gods planned for me.”

Ebran shakes his head. “This is going to be a big raid for us. We have no idea how things will turn out, or if the ship will hold well. I’d rather you not be in that danger. And besides that, I need you here. Someone has to help with things while Gorm is gone. I trust that to you and your sister”.

“Halla is more competent with household tasks than I am. And we have Sigunn now.” Gorm had married his betrothed a few weeks ago. Sigunn was a pretty blonde, but I had barely had a chance to speak to her. Halla told me she was nice, but extremely shy.

I understand Ebran’s concern. But Freydis’ sense of adventure seems to have inspired me. I want to help my friend.

“But what if she just stayed in the camp, though?” I ask, hopefully. “Surely that would be safe? Then, she could still go—“.

Her father cuts me off with a wave of his hand. “I’m sorry, girls, but my answer is no”.

I nod my understanding, but Freydis’ face is hard. As we walk away, she keeps whispering, “I’ll find a way”.

………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The day the men have planned to leave on arrives sunny and warm. A strong breeze will help to power the ship, and the sea is calm. The ship is loaded with all sorts of provisions for camp. I cannot do much but stand and watch.

My father comes over to where I stand with Jorunn. He hugs each of us. “Be good, and help your grandmother” he says.

We assure him we will. He gives us each a kiss on the forehead and goes to check on the ship’s final preparations.

I see Erlendur already on board. He is rummaging through one of the chests. I move down the dock to where he is.

“Good luck,” I say. I suddenly feel silly for saying that. Perhaps goodbye would have made more sense.

“Let’s hope we have it”. Erlendur says. He shuts the chest and stands up. I have to look down at him, for once, because I am up higher on the dock.

We stare at one another for a moment. I want to say something else. A horn sounds in the distance and the men begin to load into the ship.

Erlendur gives a quick nod in my direction then turns away.

I hurry back to my horse. There is s strange group of emotions flooding my chest. Ignoring Jorunn’s protests, I urge my horse into a canter and race through the woods. I don’t stop until we break out of tree cover, on a cliff overlooking the village. From here, I can look down into the fjord. I see the ship sailing between the cliffs. The sail is being hoisted up. Sunlight glints off of the metal. I watch until the ship reaches the horizon and disappears.

I am halfway home, when I encounter Halla on the path. She is galloping towards me on her horse. I pull my own mount up and wait for her to her closer.

Halla leaps from her horse and runs to me. I dismount as well. As she gets closer, I see tears on her cheeks. Without warning, she flings her arms about by neck and clings to me.

“Freydis is gone! She snuck onto the ship!” Halla cries.

It takes a moment for her words to sink in. “What, you mean she’s joined the raiding party?”

“Yes”, Halla gasps back tears as we pull apart. “Our father is so angry! And I’m afraid!”

“There is nothing we can do now,” I say, even as I hate the words. I clutch her hand. “There are plenty of men who will look after her. Your brother is among them. And she’s strong, stronger than either of us. We’ll make a sacrifice to the gods for protection for all of them”.

Halla sniffs and nods. We hug again, and I rub her back to comfort her. I am terrified now for my friends.

We make our way to a small grove just outside the village. I cannot risk taking animals from my father’s herds, so instead I gather plants. Halla builds a small fire. We lay out the plants and carefully burn them, whispering our prayers to Thor, the protector of Midgard. I lay more plants into the fire and incite a prayer to Freyja as well. She is a goddess of love, but also of war, and leader of the Valkyries; I hope she might hear our prayers and offer her protection to Freydis.

“Do you think this will be enough?” Halla asks, chewing her lip with worry.

Our offering is not much, but it is all we have at the moment. “I’m sure the gods will understand,” I say to reassure her. “And we’ve sent them our prayers. It’s all we can do”.

Halla nods. “I suppose”.

I can see the fear in her eyes. I want to say or do anything else to reassure her, but I don’t know what that is.

She moves over to hug me. “Thank you”.

I hug her back and we stay like that moment. Then we say a last prayer for the raiding party’s protection and go our separate ways home.

………………………………………………………………………………………………….

A few days pass since the raiders left. For those of us left behind, they seem slower than usual.

I go about my chores, and follow the same routine as I do every day, but something still feels wrong. I miss my father, and Elof. I even miss Erlendur, I am surprised to realize.

I had gotten so used to seeing him around the farm, that his absence is uncomfortably clear. Without the men, we are left with the extra work, and the responsibility of caring for ourselves and the farm alone.

I worry over the possibility of another attack. I know if invaders came again we would be helpless against them. I hope the people who attacked us before are fearful of coming back.

On the fourth day since the raiders left, I am out in the fields, alongside the tenants. We have to keep the fields weeded and well tended for the harvest at the end of the summer. I hope the men are not gone so long they miss the hay harvest. We need every available hand to work if we are to have enough for our herds to last the winter. With just a dozen head of cattle, my father’s herd is small, but each one will consume two tons of hay over the winter. We may slaughter a few bulls, but the majority will be brought from the summer pastures into the farmyards and kept stabled during the winter.

“Brynja!” Jorunn is shouting my name. I look up from my work and shield my eyes against the late afternoon sun. Jorunn is running towards me, her hair flying out behind her. It looks like fire in the sunlight.

“Brynja! There are men coming towards the farm” she pants as she reaches me. My sister points behind her.

I look in the direction of the house. I can men on horseback coming up the road. Sunlight glints off of metal. I try to count and reach eight of them.

Gathering up the hoe I was using against the weeds, we hurry towards the farm. The men have reached the gate by the time we make it to the door. We join our grandmother who had been inside.

The man in the center of the group rides a huge sorrel stallion. He nods to us. “I am Hakon Hrafnsson. My men and I and traveled many days from the coast. We are seeking hospitality”.

The name is familiar to me. I remember hearing hushed stories about a man named Hrafn, always spoken in a voice laced with venom.

Hakon is tall; my head barely reaches his shoulders. His blond hair is loose. It is striped with bleaching. Men would sometimes use lime in their hair to rid themselves of pests. The lime would leave stripes in the hair as the sunlight bleaches it.

Hakon is dressed in a dark green tunic. A wolfskin cloak wraps around his shoulders, despite the summer sun. Gold and silver arm-rings flash at his wrists. A neat blond beard covers his jaw. Tattoos decorate his face. They seem to run down, and I suspect they cover his arms and chest as well. Even his horse is impressive; a green cloth under the saddle matches his tunic, and the harness is decorated with gold and is made of the best leather.

There are seven other men with him, all neatly dressed, though none as fine. They all bear identical shields of a striped green and red design.

“Greetings, Asta,” he says to my grandmother. “Where is your son, Arnor?”

“What are you wanting with my son?” Asta asks coolly.

Hakon smiles. “Peace, ladies. I come with no ill towards your family. I am aware of the bad blood between us, but I wish for this to end. I hope we might finally make amends”.

“And what exactly are you hoping to make amends for? For the deaths of my brother-in-law or my husband?” There is an edge to Asta’s voice I rarely hear.

And then I remember those stories. Hakon owns a great deal of land to the north of us. And his family has been enemies of mine for as long as I can recall.

Hakon stiffens. “I am sorry for those losses, but may I remind you I was young at that time. I personally took no part. And my father and grandfather are long dead”.

Asta says nothing, but purses her lips. Hakon continues. “It is another few days until we will reach home. My men are weary; we have been traveling for days. Might we stay a few to regain our strength?”

He raises his right hand. It is empty. “I swear to the gods we will stay here in peace, and leave that way too. You will have no trouble with us”.

Asta sighs. “You and your men may stay. But you must sleep in the barn. I’ll have slaves tend to you”.

Hakon nods to her, almost a bow. As the men turn to lead their mounts to the barn, Hakon looks Jorunn and I over. Something about him leaves me unsettled. Erlendur’s sneer may remind me of a wolf, but he looks like an angry puppy compared to Hakon’s fierce gaze.

We send slaves to assist the men and retreat back into the house.

“Grandmother, are you sure this is safe?” I ask.

“What does it matter? They’ll be in the barn,” Jorunn rolls her eyes. Then she brightens, “Hakon was quite a sight, wasn’t he?”

“I suppose so”. I notice my grandmother looking uncomfortable. “Are you alright?”

She shakes her head and sits down, motioning for us to do the same. “I allowed the men to stay because our laws demand hospitality be given to those who ask for it. But you are both so young…you wouldn’t know…”

“Know what?” I press.

“The feud between Hakon’s family and ours. How it really started”.

I have heard of Hakon and I know that his family and ours do not get along, but I’ve never heard the full story.

We settle around the hearth. Asta takes a drink of ale to steady herself before she begins.

“As you know, our family used to have land further north, closer to Hakon’s territory. What you do not know is that my brother-in-law, your father’s uncle and your great-uncle, was betrothed to a cousin of Hakon”.

“They married in the spring. I was not much older than you Brynja. Your father was a little child; your uncle a babe in my arms. A year later, your great uncle died in a hunting accident. Hakon’s father had been out with him”.

“His body had hardly been settled into its grave when a group of warriors attacked our farmstead, not unlike the attack we had last spring. But it was much worse. The slaves were taken, the livestock stolen or driven off, the buildings were all torched. We—your grandfather, father, uncle, and myself, plus two of our slaves—were the only ones to survive. Your grandfather fought his way through to the house and managed to sneak us all out before the house went up in flames”.

“We made our way south a bit, until we came here and settled. We raised our sons and lived the best we could. Later, we found out Hakon’s family had taken our surviving tenants and forced them to work their land and pay tribute, or become slaves”.

“Years passed. You, Brynja, were just a baby, and Jorunn, you were not even born. We were attacked again. It seems Hakon’s family had found us and were intend on wiping us out. Destroying our old home and taking our possessions and land wasn’t enough. Hakon must have been around twelve or so at the time. His father dragged your grandfather out of our home when he wanted to fight back”.

My grandmother stops. Tears come to her eyes. We reach out and grasp her hands. She takes a breath and continues. “They beheaded my poor husband for trying to defend his home. They said anyone who resisted them would meet the same fate”.

We are all quiet for a time. There are tears running down my cheeks. Even Jorunn is crying. I knew my grandfather had died when I was little, but I had never known how.

“But…why? Why keep attacking us?” Jorunn asks in a small voice.

Our grandmother gives her a sad smile. “Land, mostly. We used to be a much wealthier family than we are now. We had twice as much land and more wealth. Hakon’s family desired it. It’s what they’ve always done. They would kill off neighboring families and take their land. It seems Hakon is determined to finish the job his father and grandfather started over forty years ago”.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

I have a strange dream that night. In it, I am inside the house, weaving at my loom. I hear someone enter and turn to see Erlendur in the doorway. I am surprised and ask him why he returned from the raid so quickly. He says nothing, but moves towards me with a burning look in his eyes.

Silently, he puts his fingers under my chin and tilts my head back. Before I can react, he bends his head down and places his lips on mine. I do not know how long we stand there kissing. But then he pulls away quickly. He smiles at me, that wolfish smile, and leaves the room.

I wake with my heart beating fast and my body aching with an unexplained need.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

Hakon stays for a few days, far longer than I would like. I do my best to avoid him, though it seems whenever I look up, he is there, watching me.

I move about the farm, tending to my work with an even greater focus. But I cannot avoid confrontation forever.

A few days after Hakon’s arrival, I am inside, preparing dyes for the newest spun wool. We’ll dye the threads before using them to weave cloth. I enjoy this task, though I always end up with stained fingers afterwards.

I hear someone entering the room. The footsteps are too heavy for Jorunn or Asta.

I look over my shoulder and see Hakon in the doorway. He is wearing a different tunic of dark red. I can tell from the fine wool, it is an expensive garment. And of course, there is the color. Blue is the cheapest of dyes. Red is far more expensive. Only those with a great deal of wealth could wear such color.

Hakon’s stares at me without blinking, not unlike how Erlendur sometimes does. I remember my dream from before and flush at it. I turn back to my work.

I hear Hakon step forward. “I hope I am not bothering you”.

I shake my head. “Not at all”. I manage to keep my voice light.

Hakon moves closer so he is at my side. I try not to look at him.

“You seem a bit flushed. Are you embarrassed to be alone with a man?”

“It…is not exactly proper. I do have a reputation to consider”.

Hakon laughs. “Yes. But reputation is simply what people think you are. It isn’t always true. You want people to think you’re a good girl?”

I can feel my flush deepen. I am annoyed with myself for reacting to his words. I try not to think about my dream.

I want to respond to his words, but I am unsure of what to say.

Hakon continues. “Don’t worry. I don’t mean to insult you. I know you are good. I know you are… _innocent_ ”.

I do not like the way he says that last word. Despite the sunlight streaming through the open door, I shiver. I don’t dare to look at him.

“Forgive me, Hakon, I have work to do”. I fiddle with my herbs, hoping he will take the hint and leave.

“I understand. I will make this quick then”.

I finally turn to him, wondering what he means. Nervously, I move my hand towards the knife I have been using to cut the herbs…

Hakon takes a breath and speaks. “I have seen you around the farmstead these last few days. You are very dedicated, very responsible. I see how everything is clean, well-maintained. The servants are all in line. I have eaten food from your stores and slept under your roofs. I know this is all to your effort. Let us be honest, your sister does not have the domestic talents you have, and forgive me, but your grandmother is elderly”.

I subtly wrap my fingers around the knife handle and wait. I wonder where he is going with all of this.

Hakon continues. “I have noticed what a talented woman you are. And also, I realize what a beautiful one”. He reaches out and touches the sleeve of my blue wool dress. “This is the most beautiful color on you. Though I think a woman like you deserves a finer material”.

I stiffen at his touch. I want to pull away, but can’t seem to move. His compliments are flattering, yet a part of me feels they are not entirely sincere.

“I have decided to take a wife. I need a woman who is skilled enough to run a household, to be hospitable, and one who is beautiful. I think you are such a woman. I would like to make you my wife”.

The knife slips out of my grasp. Whatever I had expected, this was not it. I try to speak, but I cannot get words out.

“I see you are shocked. I will not press you for an answer. Of course, we will have to wait until your father returns to contact the dowry and bride-price. I can pay a good one, enough for your father to buy a few good slaves, to make up for your no longer being here to care for his home”.

I do not want to marry Hakon; he is an enemy! I am angry that he would simply assume I’d say yes. I try to force these words out, but my voice will not work. It is as if his words have placed some charm on me, where I am unable to refuse. I take a breath and turn away from him.

I can still feel him next to me. “I suspect your father will return soon. I will wait to see him. It will not take me long to gather up the bride-price. In the meantime, consider this for now as a sign of our betrothal”.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Hakon holding a silver arm-ring. It is beautiful, finer than any jewelry I possess, even the enameled brooch that Asta had given me years ago. I do not take the ring from him.

He sets it on the table next to me. “I already look forward to our wedding”. He brushes his hand against my arm, and then he is gone.

I shudder. Irritated and angry at his arrogance, I grab the handful of herbs and throw them to the floor. They scatter about in the dirt.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

Hakon’s words race through my head all day. They frighten me and anger me simultaneously. I am disgusted at the idea of marrying an enemy, but his confidence frightens me. It makes me feel as if I have no choice. I pray my father and the others return home soon.

That evening, as I am completing a final check on the ewes and lambs, I hear voices coming from behind the granary. I leave the stable and move towards them.

Jorunn’s peal of laughter interrupts the chirping of evening insects. I hear a man’s voice, but cannot make out the words.

Worried, I hurry around the corner. Hakon is sitting on a crate, that same wolfish look on his face. Jorunn is sitting next to his, so close she is nearly in his lap. Her face is flushed in the fading light.

“What are you doing?” I interrupt.

They both turn to see me standing there with hands against my hips.

“Am I keeping her from her chores?” Hakon asks. I smell strong ale on him.

“It’s fine” Jorunn scoffs. “Brynja has to do everything herself anyway, otherwise it’s not good enough”.

I am annoyed with my sister, fraternizing with our enemy. And the look Hakon gives to both of us frightens me.

“Excuse me, but I need to have word with my sister” I say. Neither of them move. “Alone” I emphasize the word.

Hakon gets up and moves over to me, swaying as he does so. The smell of the ale is stronger. He looks at me as if he is going to say something, then grins and heads to where his men are staying. I hope his strange behavior is merely drunkenness and it will be gone once he’s slept it off.

I turn to my sister once Hakon is out of earshot. “What do you think you’re doing? Have you already forgotten what Asta said to us?”

“You’re just jealous because he’s interested in me. You can’t even get the farm boys to look at you. Jorunn sneers at me. She could rival Erlendur with such a look.

I go to respond, but she keeps going. I realize I can smell the ale on her too.

“It must hurt, having no men interested in you. But you are so prudish and uptight, it’s no wonder they don’t want you!”

Her words hurt more than any physical blow. And the worse part, I fear there is some truth to them. I counter back with the only thing I have to offer.

“I don’t know if he’s told you, but Hakon’s asked me to marry him”. I try to say this casually.

The stunned look on her face tells me he didn’t mention it. “I don’t believe you,” Jorunn hisses. “He’d never go for a woman like you!”

I shrug. “It would seem otherwise”. I hate myself for saying these things, as if I am going to accept the proposal, but I can’t resist this jab at my sister. Not after the words she’s said to me.

Then I head off to finish my evening chores, leaving her standing there, speechless, behind me.


	6. An Unwanted Proposal

A week passes since my confrontation with Jorunn and Hakon. I have forced the issue to the back of my mind, but it hovers there, gnawing at my conscience. I have given Hakon no answer to his proposal, though it seems it would not matter.

Anytime I have found a few hours to spare, I have gone into the village, hoping for news of the raiding party. No one has heard anything. I desperately wish for them to return. I am terrified that some awful fate has befallen them. At night, I have dreams where a storm sinks the ship, or the men are being killed by faceless enemies, or sail away into the mist and disappear forever.

I hurry to the village on a cloudy afternoon, hoping to avoid any potential rain. Two weeks have passed since the raiders left.

I have hardly a chance to speak with anyone before a warning horn sounds over our heads. Alerted by the noise, the villagers grab spears and hurry out to the docks. A ship is sailing towards us.

My heart leaps into my throat. It seems to take an eternity for the ship to reach the dock. As it comes closer, I recognize the blue and white striped sail—it is our ship! I breathe out in relief. Around me, there is excited chatter and cries of joy.

The ship is pulling up to the dock. There is a joyful chaos in the village as the men leap out of the ship, as women and children run to them. Everywhere around me there are smiles and laughter and tears of joy.

I see Elof coming down the dock carrying a large leather bag. He is sporting a rare grin. From the corner of my eye, I spot Tyrgve and Kali running to him, shrieking “Pappa! Pappa!”. Elof squats down, his arms outstretched and his children run into them. Gudrun follows the children at a slower pace. She smiles at her husband and says something I can’t hear. Elof responds and they kiss. Tyrgve grimaces at the sight and Kali places her little hands over her eyes.

“Brynja!” the sound of my name causes me to tear my eyes from my sister and her family. My father is coming towards me. There seems to be more gray in his hair than there was just a few weeks ago. But he is smiling and thankfully, he doesn’t seem to be hurt.

I run over to him and hug him hard. “I missed you, Pappa”. I sound like a child, but at this moment, I don’t care.

“I missed you, too. Are your sister and grandmother still at the farm?”

I nod. “Yes. They’ll be glad to see you I’m sure”. I decide not to mention Hakon now; I don’t want to ruin the moment.

Movement behind my father catches my eye. I see Erlendur getting off the ship. A shield is slung over his back. He does not appear to be injured, but he is not smiling either.

“Is he alright?” I ask my father, nodding towards Erlendur.

My father turns to see who I mean. “Erlendur? He’s fine. You could tell he had experience in raiding. We found a Christian temple—a monastery, they called it—and we raided it. Erlendur found the treasure, he said the last time he was in a place like that, they hid the treasure under the altar”.

“I’m glad the raid was successful. Mostly, I just glad you’re home safe” I say.

My father goes to respond, but is interrupted as two blonde figures rush over to me. Freydis is half-laughing, half-crying as she flings her arms around my neck.

“Feydis!” I cry as I embrace her. “Are you alright? We were so worried!”

“Oh, I’m fine!” Freydis swipes at her eyes. “It was so amazing! We’d been sailing for what felt like forever, and then after a few days this storm blew up…”

Freydis prattles on happily about the raid, but I find myself unable to concentrate on her words. My father has wandered off the greet Gudrun and the children. As we all make our way into the village, I glance back over my shoulder. Erlendur is still on the docks, alone, clearing out the ship.

“I’ll be right back” I say, though Freydis is now speaking of some Christian priests with such detail I’m not sure she’s even heard me.

I hurry back to the docks. Erlendur does not look up as I approach.

“I missed you” is the first thing that comes out of my mouth, and I immediately berate myself in my head. What a thing to say to a man you barely know!

Erlendur looks up at my words. I think he is smirking. “You missed me?” he asks.

I quickly try to cover my blunder. “Not just you. My father, Elof, everyone. I missed everyone in general. I mean, I’m just glad everyone is back safe”. The words stumble out of my mouth in a rush.

Erlendur is staring at me with his head tilted in an unreadable look. I quickly try to change the subject.

“My father says you found a Christian temple? A mon…” I try to recall the word he had used.

“Monastery. It is a place where Christian priests live and worship their god. Rich Christians fill the place with gold because they think giving to their god will grant them a good afterlife. So it’s a good target for a raid. Their priests are pitiful at defending themselves”.

Erlendur looks at me again and I see a small smile playing on his lips. I make the mistake of looking directly into his eyes and feel a tremor run through my body. Any words I had wanted to say are suddenly forgotten. I try to pass the tremor off as cold from the lack of sun and pull my summer cloak around me.

An odd flush crosses Erlendur’s face and he goes back to his work. Embarrassed by my sudden inability to speak, I turn and run away like a coward. I had thought the time apart might have helped me with the odd feelings I always get around Erlendur, but it seems I was wrong.

My father and I return to the farm long enough for him to greet Jorunn and Asta. Erlendur has stayed behind in the village to help with the ship. My father tells us about the raid while he cleans up. There is to be a celebration in the village tonight for the good fortune on the raid.

I rummage through my trunks and pull out my best dress, a simple gown of embroidered green wool. It was Gudrun’s before she outgrew it. I have only worn it a few times. I pull on the dress and even bother to line my eyes with kohl. I love the way the kohl draws attention to my blue eyes and makes them seem larger, though I rarely wear it. The makeup seems unnecessary for everyday farm life.

I did not see Hakon or his men when we arrived at the farm, and I hope it means they’ve left. But as we all head out to go the village, I spot Hakon striding towards us from the stables. I hold back a groan.

“Who is that?” my father asks, sharply. Before any of us can answer, Hakon reaches us.

“Arnor! I am Hakon. Your wonderful family has been providing hospitality to myself and my men these last few days”.

My father looks surprised. He turns to us.

“I gave him permission”, Asta says, her voice challenging.

“You? Why?”

Asta leans toward her son and whispers something into his ear. I cannot tell what she said, but I see my father’s eyes widen and he nods.

“Of course. I am glad to know my family is capable of providing. You have been well cared for?”

Hakon looks to Jorunn and myself. “I have been provided with everything I need” he says.

“Good”, my father replies. “If you will excuse us, we are to go to the village for a celebration”.

“Of course, the raid!” Hakon’s eyes light up. “You must tell me all about it. Perhaps the next time I can join you!”

I cringe as Hakon joins us in the wagon uninvited. Jorunn happily sits next to him. I wish my father would speak up, tell him to leave.

I endure the ride into the village well enough, considering the company. As soon as our wagon pulls up to the village communal hall, I leap out and hurry inside. The room is warm against the cool summer night. A hearth fire lights the space and wall torches sputter against the shadows. Most of the villagers are already here. The scent of fresh ale and roasting meat wafts up with the smoke into the rafters.

I slip through the crowd, seeking my friends. I spot Freydis and Halla standing by a pillar. Halla has changed into a lovely blue-green dress. A piece of gold jewelry—a gift from her betrothed I guess—sparkles in her hair.

Freydis is still wearing the same leather trousers and rough blue men’s tunic she wore that afternoon. Her hair is braided along the sides of her face and falls against her shoulders. Kohl lines her eyes. She is smiling, glowing even. She doesn’t look quite like the bright-eyed dreamer I’ve know growing up; she looks like a true shieldmaiden.

I hurry over to them. “I’m so glad I’ve found you!” I quickly explain the situation with Hakon to them.

When I am finished, Halla laughs. “Brynja, I don’t see why you’re so upset over this. Hakon is so rich. Think over the kind of life you could have!”

“I don’t want that life as his wife! Did you not pay attention to anything I’ve told you? His father killed my grandfather. And I’m not comfortable around him at all. Why should I marry someone like that?”

Halla scowls and takes a drink from her cup. “All I’m saying is that Hakon comes with a lot of opportunity. I don’t think you should be so quick to discard that”.

Freydis speaks up. “I still can’t believe you both keep talking about men and marriage. Please tell me something else happened while I was away?”

I shake my head, still hurt by Halla’s comment. I try to direct the attention off of me. “I don’t think you’ve told us all about the raid”.

Hall shoots a look of annoyance at me, a look that reads “don’t encourage her”, but Freydis is already launching into another telling of her adventure.

“But wasn’t your father angry?” I interrupt her explanation of how she disguised herself in Gorm’s old clothes to look like a boy and get on the ship.

“Oh, he was when I came back. But I think it was more due to worry. I’m sure he’ll forget about it soon, now that he’s seen I’ve come back alright”.

Then, she hesitates. She glances over at her sister, who has since wandered off in search of Sindri. “Please don’t tell anyone I’ve said this, not even Halla. She’ll never let me forget it.” Her voice grows softer and becomes less confident. “But…I afraid the whole time. On the way there, a storm hit. I thought we were all going to die, that the ship was going to break apart and we were going to drown. And then…when we landed, we invaded the place and the men just started slaughtering all the priests that got in their way. They…they seemed to enjoy it. I didn’t kill anyone. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I barely pulled out a weapon the whole time. I just helped load up the treasure really”. She turns her head into the shadows, as if ashamed by this confession.

I place my hand against her arm to comfort her. “I’m glad you didn’t kill anyone. I don’t think that makes you any less of a shieldmaiden. You snuck onto a ship and sailed off to an unknown land. That’s braver than anything I’ve ever done”.

Freydis takes a drink of her ale and smiles at me. “Thank you, Brynja. I always know I can trust you with these things”.

I go to respond, but am interrupted by a roar of excitement. Grimar, one of the shipwrights, has clambered onto a tabletop. A drinking horn sloshes in his hand.

“I’ve composed poem about the raid!” he shouts over the noise. The hall immediately begins to quiet. Grimar has always had a talent for poetry. He would often entertain the villagers at festivals with his stories.

Grimar takes a drink from his horn and settles himself where everyone can see him. He clears his throat and begins in a strong voice:

_West I sailed,_

_Across the endless seas._

_Aegir’s daughters encouraged our journey,_

_The sun beat down,_

_The wind blew fair,_

_A finer day for sailing_

_We could not have asked for._

_But then,_

_Mighty Thor, Odin’s son,_

_His temper flared at us._

_Black the sky turned._

_Aegir’s daughters_

_Changed their minds._

_Fierce waves struck the prow,_

_That beauty, her woolen sail held high._

_Multi-colored her sides were painted_

_She strove bravely on,_

_Through the harsh lashing of the sea._

_Thirty men,_

_Myself included_

_We struggled at the oars._

_Bravely we faced_

_The wrath of Thor._

_At long last_

_The waves grew calm._

_We continued to wander_

_West further_

_Than all but one had gone before._

_Dark shapes appeared_

_On the horizon._

_Like giants in the mist._

_A strange new land_

_Before us lay._

_We anchored the ship_

_Upon the shore._

_And waded onto the sand._

_Before us a great temple_

_Of stone and sure_

_To be treasure filled._

_Like wolves we crept_

_To the gates_

_No guards to block our way._

_Inside, strange voices sang._

_Their song turned_

_To howling cries_

_Of pain and despair._

_We launched ourselves onto_

_The pathetic priest of_

_That Christian God._

_Fierce, the warriors slaughtered_

_The brown-robed priests_

_of the Christian god._

_They piled the bodies across the ground,_

_Blood soaked into the grass._

_But no treasure_

_Seemed to lay_

_Throughout the strange stone walls_

_Then, the clever stranger_

_Who’d encouraged us to raid_

_Spoke of his experience_

_With the Christian ways._

_“They hide their treasure,_

_Under the altar”._

_He spoke with assurance._

_We looked and saw_

_His words were true._

_A great hoard lay_

_Beneath this wood_

_Dedicated to their god._

_We gathered up_

_The gold and silver,_

_Great jewels_

_The likes of which we’d never seen._

_Each man was happy_

_For in this hoard lay_

_Enough to make him rich_

_Out perilous journey_

_Was not in vain._

_Onto the ship we loaded_

_Our goods, the silver and the slaves_

_For some priests escaped the axe,_

_Only to meet a worse fate._

_We lit the temple_

_Of the Chrisitan God._

_Let it be known to all_

_Who hear this tale_

_Whose side the true Gods are on._

_Praise the bravery_

_Of our great men_

_They acted as true Vikings this day._

_Fire devoured the place_

_Behind us._

_Smoke twisted into the sky._

_But we will head west another day._

_If it be in our fates._

_The dead were left behind_

_For the ravens to dine upon._

_Pray Odin has seen_

_The works we did_

_In his name._

_Pray for more_

_Good fate from the Gods._

When Grimar is finished, we all applaud his work. He bows in appreciation. I am not sure if this is his best work, but he composed it in a short amount of time.

“You are not wearing the arm-ring I gave you”.

I startle and look behind me to see Hakon. He stares down at me. There is no look of arrogance on his face, no wolf-like grin. He is not smiling at all, and I find this even more disturbing.

I hastily pull the sleeves of my dress to hide my wrists and force a smile. “In truth, it is too fine a gift for me. I am merely a farmer’s daughter”. I had thrown the ring in the corner of my trunk out of sight, and had not looked at it since.

The wolf smile returns to Hakon’s face. “I could make you so much more than that. I have a great deal of land. And I have been in negotiations with the king. Perhaps one day I will even be a jarl. And you could be a jarl’s wife”.

These words mean nothing to me. I don’t know what sort of negotiations Hakon means, nor if he means our petty king, or King Harald. I’ve heard rumors of the man wanting to conquer all of Norway into one kingdom.

And I have no desire to be a jarl’s wife. What would I do with a life of such luxury? I am content to marry a farmer or craftsman, so I long as I can marry a man I respect, and one who respects me.

Hakon takes a hold of my arm. “Come, I see your father. Let us tell him the news”.

“What? No!” I try to pull away, but he is too strong.

Whether he mistakes my reluctance simply for nerves or not, I do not know. He pulls me into the crowd.

“Arnor!” He speaks loud enough for everyone to hear, but looks only at my father. “I have come to ask you for the bride-price for your daughter, Brynja”.

The hall falls quiet. There is rustling from the benches as people turn to see what is going on. The twigs snap as they burn in the hearth.

I realize everyone is watching us. My face burns with embarrassment at everyone’s staring. I twist my arm against Hakon’s grip and he finally releases me. My arm aches where his hand was. I rub it to ease the pain.

“What do you mean, Hakon?” my father says. He looks from Hakon to me. “Daughter?”

I shake my head. I want to speak, but I don’t trust my voice right now. I hope my face can convey my real feelings on the matter.

Movement off to my right catches my eye. I see Erlendur has pushed his way through the crowd. The look on his face seems to display shock, but I am not sure.

“I am a wealthy man, as you know,” Hakon is saying. “I can pay a good bride-price. I’ll give you triple the poor-man’s price”.

The poor-man’s price for a wife is eight pieces of silver. Three times that would be twenty-four pieces, enough to buy a good mail shirt or a few slaves. In addition to my embarrassment, I feel offended as well. I may be a farmer’s middle daughter, but I am surely worth more than a mail shirt!

My father is looking back and forth between Hakon and myself. “Well, daughter,” he says, his voice so even, unbearable for me to hear. “Do you want to marry Hakon?”

I look around at the faces in the room, wishing for someone to step forward in my defense. Jorunn is standing next to our father. The look she is giving me is one of hatred; but there are tears brimming in her eyes. She has never looked at me like that before.

“I…” I swallow and force myself to speak as firmly as I can. “No. No, I don’t want to!”

I turn and push my way into the crowd, past Erlendur’s shocked face, away from Hakon’s protests and Jorunn’s hateful sneer. I am nearly to the door when someone catches my arm. I brace myself in case it is Hakon, but as I turn I see Halla.

“Did you think about what I said?” Halla says, “It would not be so bad. You’ll be a wealthy woman. Hakon has three farms; I’ve heard, acres and acres of land, and so much silver, too. And he’s handsome”. Her face is shining in the torchlight, and I’m sure she means well and wants to be happy for me. But I am too angry and embarrassed to listen to her words.

“Is that all you care about?” I nearly shout. “How handsome or wealthy a man is? I don’t care! His father murdered my grandfather. I can never marry him, not if he had all the gold in the world!”

“Brynja—“.

I do not want to hear anything else now. I feel tears come into my eyes. I rip my arm from her grasp and run before she can say anything else.

I run through the village streets. The cool night air is refreshing against the smoky, hot hall. It grows darker and quieter as I move away from the light and noise.

I head for Gudrun’s house. I did not see her with Elof and know she is likely at home putting the children to bed.

At her door, I knock quietly, in case the children are asleep. Gudrun opens the door. A look of surprise crosses her face. “Brynja, what are you doing here?”

I shake my head and move into her arms. She hugs me fiercely. “Sister, what is it? Is it our grandmother? Father?”

I pull away and we move into the house. The fire is banked low, but it is still comfortable inside. We sit around the hearth.

“No, no they’re all fine. You’ve heard of Hakon?”

Gudrun pours us each ale and hands a drinking horn to me. “Of course. What about him?”

“He came to the farm while the men were away. He…he asked me to marry him”.

In the faint light, I see my sister’s eyes widen in surprise. “Well, what did you say?”

I shake my head. “At the time, I couldn’t say anything; I was so shocked. But he just assumed I’d say yes”. I explain how he made me uncomfortable and my conversation with Jorunn. I consider mentioning my dream about Erlendur, but decide against it. I trust Gudrun, yet I do not even understand the dream myself.

“And then, just now, he got up in front of everyone and practically announced us as engaged and asked father about a dowry. He said he’d pay a good bride-price…” I cannot talk anymore. The tears I have been choking back finally come out.

Gudrun moves over to hug me again. She doesn’t have to say anything; I understand her concern for me. Gudrun and I have a sisterly bond that I was never able to form with Jorunn.

A knock at the door interrupts us. Gudrun sighs and gets up to answer it. I hear her say, “Father. She’s here”.

Our father comes in and stands over me. “What were you thinking running off? I worried about you”.

Through my tears, I look up at him. “Please don’t make me marry him”. I whisper.

My father crouches down next to my chair and takes my hand. “Daughter, I would not agree to a marriage for you without being sure it was what you wanted. If you do not want to marry Hakon, I understand, but we must turn him down in the least offensive way possible. We don’t want to risk another attack”.

“Another?” I say. “Do you think Hakon ordered that raid last spring?”

Behind our father, Gudrun sits down in shock. My father sighs. “I have no way to prove it, only my suspicions. But Hakon’s family and ours have been at odds for a long time”.

“That doesn’t make sense though. Why attack us, and then a few months later, negotiate a marriage?” But even as I say the words it starts to make sense. My father’s next words confirm it.

“Marriage is not always about love. More often than not, it is about power and alliance. Perhaps Hakon realized force would not help him, so he went for a more cunning tactic”.

I nod. Women have often been married off as “peace-weavers” between feuding families. But I think Hakon’s reasoning was more for his own profit than peace. I say this to my father.

He nods. “I think you are right. And that is why we must refuse carefully. I have told Hakon you need time to consider things”.

I understand, though I wish he might have said it in a way that didn’t make me sound so indecisive. “If neither of you mind, might I stay here tonight?”

“Of course, sister,” Gudrun comes forward to put an arm around my shoulders. “You are always welcome here”.

Our father speaks. “It is fine with me. In fact, after tonight, I think it might be best. You can come home in the morning”.

He gives me a hug and kisses my forehead. “Think of what we talked about”.

He hugs Gudrun goodbye as well and slips out the door.

That night at Gudrun’s is quiet. I settle myself into a spare bedplace in the corner. Sleep does not come easily to me. So many thoughts are rushing through my head that I cannot make sense of them all.

What is it Hakon is up to? Why is he so determined to have me when he could have any woman? Is he really obsessed to wipe out our family? And what was the look on Erlendur’s face supposed to mean?

These thoughts leave me restless. I toss back and forth, unable to get comfortable. It is only a few hours before sunrise before I am finally able to drift to sleep.

I feel I have only just shut my eyes before the sounds of the other people stirring awaken me. I can hear Trygve and Kari’s voices pestering their mother about breakfast. Gudrun shushes them with a firm look and sends them outside to their father.

“You’re awake”, she notices me sitting up on the bed. “You didn’t sleep well”. It is not a question.

“I had so much on my mind after last night. It was hard to sleep”.

Gudrun nods and begins straightening the children’s rumpled beds. “Do me a favor, would you, and tend the fire?”

I crawl out of my bed and go to the hearth. As I stir the flames back into life, the thoughts from last night come back to me.

“May I ask you something?” I say as I poke the logs.

“You know you can ask me anything, sister”. Gudrun is bustling about, preparing oatcakes for breakfast.

“How did you,” I feel uncomfortable asking such a question. “How did you know Elof loved you? Or that you loved him?”

Gudrun looks over her shoulder at me. She seems surprised. “Simple. He told me”. She smiles, almost mischievously, for her. “Of course, it took a great deal of prodding to get him to admit it. You know how Elof is”.

I nod, wishing her answer might have been more helpful. “But how did _you_ know you had feelings for him?”

Gudrun begins laying the oatcakes over the fire to cook. “Well, he was always so kind to me. I’m not really sure what you want me to tell you Brynja. There was no great epiphany. It just…happened”.

She stares into the fire, a dreamy look coming over her face as she recalls their courtship. “I would get these tremors, these flushes on the inside, every time I looked at him. And when we touched…my skin tingled. My body recognized it long before my mind did”.

I think about how I too, cannot look at Erlendur without the tremors, of the way my hand feels each time our fingers brush. I recall the bonfire that seems so long ago now, where he brushed his hand against mine. And just yesterday, the tremor that rippled through my body when I saw him return, the rushing feeling of joy and relief in my chest…

I realize Gudrun is watching me, a faint smile on her face. “Who’s got you feeling it?”

I blush furiously. “No one!”

“Brynja, I’m your sister. You can lie to yourself all you want, but please don’t lie to me”.

“Sometimes, when I’m,” my voice is shaking. It is difficult to say these things out loud. “Sometimes when I’m around…Erl—.”

I am interrupted as Elof and the children come in. I snap my mouth shut and turn away. I know I can trust Elof as well, but it is hard enough to admit these feelings in front of my sister alone.

I stay long enough for breakfast, but know I must return to the farm eventually. I cannot avoid it forever, not when I’m needed.

Elof offers to accompany me home. I start to refuse, but then I remember Hakon may still be around. “Thank you,” I say, “I’d be grateful”.

We head up the path, after finally tearing ourselves away from Trygve and Kari, who both cried when they were told they couldn’t come.

For much of the way, we walk in silence. To my surprise, Elof breaks it.

“What are you going to do about Hakon’s proposal?” he asks.

I feel a wave of nausea hit me at the thought. “I don’t know” I whisper. “Father says I have to refuse him as carefully as possible, so he doesn’t take offense”.

Elof snorted, as if he didn’t care one way or another, what Hakon took offense to.

“My father suspects he launched the attack on us last spring. That this is all part of his plan to get rid of us for good”.

Elof grunts. “If Erlendur doesn’t kill him first”.

I am puzzled by this. “Why would Erlendur want to kill Hakon? I don’t think they’ve even met”.

“Not officially. But you didn’t see Erlendur’s face when Hakon said he was going to marry you”.

This only puzzles me more. “I saw. He looked surprised”.

“I mean after you ran off. He was glaring at Hakon with murder in his eyes”.

Was Erlendur that upset by it? “I don’t see why he would care who I marry”.

Elof looks at me with a steady gaze. I expect him to say something else, but he just shakes his head.

We remain silent as we continue to the farm. Once we’re there, Elof gives me a pat on the shoulder, as if that will be reassuring. He heads in the direction of the stables to find my father. I wonder what they could possibly want to talk about, and hope it is only farming, and nothing to do with me.

“Hakon has already left”, Asta informs me the moment I am back in the house. “He left saying that the summer hay harvest is happening soon, and that he will return after”.

This is both a relief and a worry. I am glad to know I won’t have to deal with him for a few weeks at least, but the fact that I will, eventually, have to see him again, sends my stomach in knots.

Jorunn is gone, too. Out to gather berries and nuts from along the stream, Asta claims. I am relieved to be reprieved of both of them for a while. It is nice to be able to move about the farm in peace.

Erlendur has returned to the farm, as well, and is back to work. I barely get to see him, though. He moves about the farm in long strides, as if impatient to be somewhere. In the few times I get to glimpse him that day, he simply scowls in my direction, and walks away.

Elof’s words come back to me. But I still don’t understand why Erlendur would be so bothered by it. I remember, too, my conversation with Gudrun that morning. I had come so close to confessing the strange feelings I get around him. Was it possible Erlendur was acting the way he was because he felt the same way?

But I have little time to ponder this as I go about my work. And as the day slips into evening, I realize I have a new worry.

Jorunn has not returned. I check the stream. The only evidence that she was there are muddy footprints along the bank. But they are heading north, away from the farm. And I have a certain suspicion where she’s gone off to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading this story. Feedback is always appreciated.


	7. The Chase

I run to the stables. Erlendur is there, bringing the horses in for the night. He looks up as he hears me approach and sneers a bit. I recall Elof’s words. But Erlendur has no reason to be upset that Hakon proposed to me.

“Jorunn is gone!” I tell him.

Erlendur stares at me. “What do you mean ‘gone’?”

“She’s run off after Hakon! I have to go after her!”

Erlendur scoffs. “Are you jealous? Or are you desperate to be with your betrothed?”

I have never hit anyone in my life, but at this moment, I feel I could strike him. “I am not jealous of my sister! And Hakon is not my betrothed! If you’re bothered, I can go alone”.

Erlendur sighs. He sounds annoyed. “It’s getting late. It will be too dangerous for you. I’ll go after her”.

“I’m coming with you”.

“No. If anything happens to you—“.

It is my turn to scoff. “Please don’t say you’ll never forgive yourself”.

“Actually, I was going to say your father would kill me”.

I shrug and move to gather up a saddle. “That’s a risk we’ll have to take. I can always go by myself…”

Erlendur turns to me from putting the last horse in his stall. “You can’t run off on your own”. His voice is harsh.

I turn to him and try to fight the dread and anxiousness building within me. “My sister’s reputation—maybe even her life—is at stake. I have to go after her”.

Erlendur’s voice softens from the harsh tone he used a moment ago. “And what of your own reputation? Does that not worry you?”

“Yes, but if risking it means keeping my sister safe,” I take a breath, “then I’ll do it”.

Erlendur is quite for a moment. He stares at me with an unreadable expression.

Finally, he speaks. “I’ll get the horses saddled. Which ones should we take?”

I point to a tall gray stallion. “You can ride Borg”.

Erlendur snorts. I realize he is laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s just…nothing”.

I huff and hurry to the house to gather supplies. I move quietly so as not to draw attention from Asta or my father. I could always tell my father that Jorunn had run off, but he has just returned from the raid the day before. If Erlendur and I can find Jorunn and get her back before he realizes how long she’s been gone, then that’s one less thing he has to worry over.

I fill a pack with some loaves of bread and strips of salted meat. I grab two leather water bottles to fill and cloaks for each of us.

I make my way back to the barn, carrying the pack and bottles, with the cloaks over my arm. Erlendur has my dark brown mare saddled. She nickers at my approach. I stop a moment to stroke her soft nose, then stash the pack behind her saddle.

Erlendur tightens Borg’s saddle. “Get his bridle. I’ll be right back”. He hurries from the barn.

I wonder what Erlendur possibly have to leave for. I slip Borg’s bridle on his head and pet the horses while I wait.

Erlendur returns a moment later, his sword belted around his waist. He notices me eying it. “Just in case,” he says.

I nod, though I hope there will be no reason to need it.

We lead the horses as quietly as we can out of the barn and through the yard. We lead them until we are a few yards from the house, before mounting. I glance back over my shoulder. I cannot see anyone in the darkening yard.

“Let’s go,” Erlendur whispers.

We kick our horses forward and head for the woods.

“Do you know where Hakon’s home is?” Erlendur asks after a few moments.

“I’ve never been there. I know it is north of us”.

Erlendur twists in the saddle to stare at me. There is just enough light for me to make out his face. “You mean to tell me we’re riding north to someplace, and you don’t know where it is? We’re in southwestern Norway. There’s a lot north of us!”

“I told you, I’ve never been there! But I know it’s not that far, a day or two. I’m sure we can find it”.

 

We ride on in silence. I do not know how much time passes as we travel through the woods. We cross the stream where Erlendur was found, and keep going north. I feel we have been riding forever.

Eventually, the woods become so dark it is difficult to see to steer the horses. Erlendur directs Borg into a small grove off of the path and dismounts. I follow him.

“We can rest here a bit. It’s too dark to ride right now”.

I am impatient to reach my sister. She has had plenty of time ahead of us. But I know Erlendur is right. The horses cannot continue without rest. And I am tired too.

We tend to the horses, allowing them to drink from a small stream, loosening the saddle girths and removing the bits so they can graze and rest in comfort. Erlendur and I each lie down and wrap ourselves in our cloaks to sleep. I am sure to lay a few feet away from him.

I awaken a few hours later to see early morning light flooding the grove. There is a moaning noise behind me.

Erlendur is tossing and turning restlessly on the ground. He moans again, as if in pain, and rolls over so his back is to me. He looks as if he’s having a nightmare.

“Erlendur!” I call quietly. He does not answer. I raise my voice. “ _Erlendur_!”

Erlendur jerks and I can tell he is awake now. Without even looking at me, he gets up, and stalks off into the trees.

I get up and wash my face in the stream. I check the horses and rummage through the pack for the food I packed last night.

I assume Erlendur had gone off to relieve himself. He is gone for a while though. I am starting to worry as I gnaw on some strips of meat and bread. Perhaps I should go look for him.

I have barely had this thought before Erlendur returns. He looks pale in the early morning light.

“Good morning”, I say, trying to sound cheerful. I’m sure he knows I overheard his moaning.

Erlendur makes a noise of acknowledgement, but doesn’t look in my direction. He goes to the stream and washes his hands and face.

We are both quiet as Erlendur grabs some food from the pack and we eat. Erlendur scarfs down his food. He says something through a mouthful of bread.

“What?”

Erlendur swallows. “I said, ‘I found another trail.’ It looks to be well-used, and there are tracks—hoof prints—on it, leading north. They look to be only a day or two old”.

My heart leaps. “It must be Jorunn!”

We hurriedly finish our meal, and saddle the horses. I follow Erlendur through the woods to the trail. Just as he said, there are tracks on it.

We ride on; Erlendur scanning the trail and woods around us. I want to ask Erlendur about this morning—if he had, in fact, had a nightmare—but I decide not to. I suspect if Erlendur wants to bring it up he will; I’ve learned pressing him about his personal self does nothing but close him up.

“So why does Hakon want you so much?” Erlendur breaks the silence.

I flush, annoyed by this remark. “You think I’m not good enough?”

Erlendur scowls. “That wasn’t what I was asking. I just want to know why he wants you”.

Clearly Erlendur does not consider himself exempt from asking about other people’s lives. I decide to explain the feud to him, as Asta had told it me. I get to the part about Hakon arriving at the farm, and how uncomfortable he made me feel, always watching me. When I explain Hakon’s first proposal, and his arrogance, Erlendur’s hands tighten on the reins so much Borg jerks his head and tries to stop. Erlendur relaxes his grip and urges the horse on, though his knuckles are still white.

“So he’s doing all of this to get some land?” Erlendur scoffs in disgust.

“I don’t know his reasoning. That’s just what my father and I suspect”.

“If he can’t have you…he may just try to kill your whole family and take it by force”. Erlendur says quietly.

My stomach clenches in fear. As if sensing my worry, my horse shakes her mane and snorts.

I don’t want to talk about Hakon anymore. I decide it’s time to change the subject.

“So, what was so funny about Borg’s name? You laughed at him earlier”. I reach over to ruffle the stallion’s dark mane.

A faint smile touches Erlendur’s lips. “I knew a man named Borg. He’s dead now”.

I fail to see how this is funny. Quietly, I dare to ask, “Is everyone you knew dead?”

Erlendur is silent and his smile fades. “I wish”, he mutters.

Our conversation ceases after that. We travel steadily for the rest of the day. By that evening a large farm comes into our view. A hall, twice as long as my father’s longhouse, dominates the horizon. Beyond it are several other buildings, which I guess to be stables and outbuildings. The large yard is fenced, and massive hunting dogs ramble about it. I can see the evening sun shining off a lake behind the hall and the mountains frame the whole farm. It would be a stunningly beautiful place, were it not for the person who owned it.

Erlendur lets out a soft whistle when he sees it; I nudge him in the side with my elbow.

“It’s almost fit for an Earl”. He says. “Is Hakon not a farmer too?

I scoff. “Landowner, I would say. You think he works the land himself?”

We tie the horses to some trees where they hopefully won’t be seen and creep forward a few yards. Crouching in some bushes outside the fence, we discuss how to get in.

“We could just disguise ourselves as travelers,” I say. “Ask for hospitality?”

Erlendur shakes his head. “You would be recognized, surely”.

“We’ll do you have any suggestions?” I argue. “Unless you’re so great a warrior you can take on all of his men at once, we can’t just barge in!”

“I know that!” Erlendur snarls back. “We just—“, he stops and listens to something.

I don’t hear anything and open my mouth to speak. Erlendur places one hand over my mouth and puts the other to his sword hilt.

“Well, what do we have here?” The voice comes from over our heads. A richly dressed man is standing over us. He has a sword on his belt. There are a few other men with him; two carry torches, and another is holding the leash of a large hunting dog. The animal strains at its lead. I lean away, fearful of that massive fang-filled jaw.

“Looks like we have some intruders!” Rough hands grab us and drag us to our feet. Erlendur snarls and wrenches one arm free and starts to draw his sword…

A few of the men rush forward with weapons draw, and point them at Erlendur’s throat. “This one wants a bit of trouble” one of the men says. “Maybe we should do away with him?”

“No!” I cry. I try to move forward as if I could somehow protect Erlendur. Erlendur steps to the side so he is in between me and the other men, his sword pointed at the others.

“Put the weapons away, all of you!” The man in front speaks. “Hakon can deal with them. I was with him in the south. I recognize this girl”.

His men sheath their weapons, reluctantly. He points to Erlendur’s sword. “Hand that over. You can have it back later, if Hakon agrees”.

Erlendur slowly lowers his blade, but does not sheath it.

“Erlendur,” I whisper. “Please. It’s not worth getting killed over”.

After what seems like an eternity, Erlendur puts his sword back in its scabbard and hands the weapon over. It clearly pains him to do so.

We are being lead through the gate and towards the hall. My legs are quivering from fear and exhaustion after our long ride. I am terrified of what Hakon will do to us. I pray my stubbornness has not led us to our deaths.

I try to keep my head up, and my back straight. No matter what Hakon has in store for us, I don’t want to go to it looking like a coward, no matter how afraid I am.

My look of courage crumbles a bit as I trip halfway through the yard. I stumble, and almost hit the ground, but Erlendur catches my arm. I nod my thanks, my throat to dry to speak. Erlendur does not let go of my arm though. He finally releases me at the door. I feel his grasp even after he’s let go; unlike Hakon’s, which made me ache in pain, Erlendur’s touch just makes me tingle.

We are brought into the hall. It is a good sized building, even bigger than my father’s longhouse. Inside, it is dark and smoky; the only light comes from the center hearth and a few candles placed along the tables. We move down to the end of the hall. Servants, nearly all young women around my age, glance at us but quickly return to their work.

At the back of the hall is another room with its own small hearth. Tapestries decorate and insulate the walls, but they, and the oak rafters that keep up the roof, are stained with smoke. A long table with benches and stools is near the hearth.

At the center of the table is Hakon, drinking deeply from a silver goblet. Jorunn—I am both relieved and furious to see—sits at his side. She is staring at him adoringly, leaning off of her stool to get close to him. She is wearing a red dress of fine wool I know doesn’t belong to her.

There are two other women at the table. One sits on Hakon’s other side. She is an older woman, almost as old as my father, I would guess. She wears a dark blue dress and is draped in glass beads and silver jewelry. Her blond hair, so pale with age it is nearly white, is piled neatly on her head. Something about her face is similar to Hakon’s. I suspect this is his mother.

Next to her is another woman, a little older than I. She is beautiful, enough to rival Jorunn. I feel conscious of my windblown hair and travel-worn clothes. The woman wears a dress that seems to be made of gold, the thread shines so brightly in the firelight. Jewels flash at her earlobes and wrists. Her eyes are lined with kohl. Her hair is light brown, and flows loosely over her shoulders, held in place by a gold headdress.

Movement near the end of the table catches my eye and I see a small boy, perhaps five or six, watching us. He has the same coloring as Hakon. A slave girl stands behind the gold-clad woman, holding a bundle I am certain is a babe.

Jorunn notices us first. “Brynja!” she squeals. “Sister, have you come to see me?”

“I’ve come to take you home!” I reply.

By now, Hakon has noticed us and he laughs. “Did you change your mind, Brynja? I always have room for another woman”. He grins at me, but the smile does not reach his eyes. They gleam in the firelight with the same wolfish glare he gave me when we first met.

I suppress a shudder and stare back at him with as much courage and dignity as I can muster. The hall has grown silent now, save for the snap of twigs in the hearth.

“I have come for my sister”. I gesture to myself and Erlendur, who has been silent the whole time. “We have come to bring her home where she belongs”.

Hakon ignores my words. He gestures to the women next to him. “This is my mother, Yngvild. And that is Asgerd”. He points to the gold woman.

“Please sit with us” Hakon speaks as if we were all friends. “There is fresh meat and ale. Surely you are hungry after your— _urgent_ —journey”. He smirks and there is some laughter around the room. I don’t understand what is so funny.

Erlendur and I sit cautiously across the table. Servants place platters of roasted meat and vegetables with wheat bread in front of us. Ale is poured all around.

I am starving, and the last bit of meat and bread we ate seems so long ago. The food looks and smells delicious, but I cannot bring myself to eat it. It is pride that makes me refuse the hospitality of my enemy. I notice Erlendur eyeing the food as well, but not touching it.

Hakon notices our reluctance. “It is perfectly good food, I assure you. And it is not poisoned, if that worries you”. To prove his point, he takes a bit of food off each plate and eats it. “See?”

Hospitality is expected whenever travelers come to one’s door, and Hakon has been decent enough to provide us with food, even after catching us on his land. But I still cannot bring myself to take a bite.

“You are a rude girl” Yngvild speaks. I feel my jaw drop and turn to stare at her.

“My son has offered you good food from his own stores and you turn your nose up at it. You and him,” here she jerks her hand at Erlendur and curls her lip, “were caught sneaking on our land. We ought to have you punished”.

“Your son stole a girl away from her father’s home” Erlendur speaks for the first time since we entered.

“Come now”, Hakon says. “I want no more feuds with your family. Brynja, my offer of marriage was made in good faith, to weave peace between our families, not to destroy them. But you refused me. You could have been mistress of this”. He gestures around the hall. “Instead, your sister is happy to take your place”.

Jorunn tosses her head and smiles at me.

I cannot recall ever feeling such anger. Anger at Hakon for thinking we would believe him and give him our land, anger at Jorunn for being so foolish and betraying her family, anger at myself for feeling as if this were my entire fault.

I push against the rage and speak as evenly as I can. “Hakon, I never have, nor ever will, desire to be your wife. And I will not let you seduce my sister into your scheme—“.

“I have already seduced your sister. She made a nice addition to by bed”. Hakon’s smirk deepens.

A deathly silence settles over the room again. I stare at Hakon a moment, then turn to Jorunn. The triumph that shone on her face before has gone. Her face has crumpled slightly, her smile is shaky.

The gold woman, Asgerd, breaks the silence. “Your sister is welcome here. I speak from experience; she will be well cared for”. She smiles at Hakon and Jorunn.

“You mean she’ll be cared for so long as she’s a whore for him?” Erlendur sneers. He glares at Asgerd. “Just as you are a whore, I’m sure. And what happens when he grows tired of you?”

Neither Asgerd nor Jorunn answer. Erlendur looks at my sister. “He cares nothing for you, no matter what lies he’s said. I know of men like him. He’ll say anything to get a woman in his bed, to do as he wants, but he won’t care for her. He’ll tire of you soon enough and replace you just as quickly as he got you”.

I stiffen in anger at my sister being called something so foul. I turn to Erlendur. “Watch your mouth! That is still my sister” I whisper furiously. I do not know where this courage to speak up, this sudden feistiness, came from; it must be all my anger driving me.

Erlendur stares at me with an unreadable expression. I cannot tell if he is angry or amused. His blue eyes bore into mine without blinking, and my confidence wavers a bit.

“I did not come here to argue with you, Brynja” he says slowly.

Erlendur turns to Hakon. “Thank you for the food. But we are leaving. And we are taking your _addition_ with us”.

“No!” Hakon and Jorunn both speak at once.

“I’m staying here! Someone actually cares about me here!” Jorunn cries, tears springing to her eyes.

My anger is slowly subsiding, and my heart aches for my sister. “There are plenty of people who care about you at home” I say quietly.

Jorunn covers her face and starts to cry. I glance at Erlendur, but he does not look at me. His face is set in its usual unreadable mask.

Hakon stands and Erlendur is quick to do the same. “I’ve already had the girl’s virginity and I’ll have the rest of her too!” Hakon shouts. He opens his mouth to say more, but is cut off as Erlendur’s fist drives into his face. The women on Hakon’s side of the table all scream.

Hakon staggers back, blood gushing from his nose and busted lip. He takes a moment to regain his footing and spits blood into the hearth.

He glares at us in hatred. “Go with them then” he spits at Jorunn.

My sister, who moved forward to help him, is taken aback. She steps away as blood spews from his mouth. “But…” more tears fill her eyes.

Hakon turns to Erlendur. “This is far from over”.

Erlendur meets the fiery gaze with so much calm I am impressed. “I am aware this is only just beginning. And I look forward to ending it”. Without another word, his picks up his cloak and moves for the door. I grab Jorunn’s hand and drag her along. She weeps as she follows behind me. Erlendur snatches his sword back from a man near the door with a snarl on his face.

No words are spoken as we mount our horses and head in the direction of home. When we are out of sight of the hall and moving through the woods, I turn to my sister. “Are you alright?”

She sniffs, but makes no other answer.

“Did he, I mean, did you really…give yourself to him?” I ask cautiously. I know Jorunn can be reckless, but I cannot believe she would risk her whole reputation and marriage prospects. She must have been convinced Hakon would marry her.

Another sniff is the only answer I receive. I want to speak to Erlendur, but he is still seething. He is watching everywhere around us, as if certain Hakon’s men will leap out at any moment.

I remain silent as we ride home.


	8. A Scandalous Position

The ride home does not seem to take as long. I am exhausted and all I can think about is collapsing into my soft bed.

Erlendur pushes us to travel through the night, stopping only when it is too dark to see the trail. We make good time and by the following evening the farm is in sight.

Jorunn has been unusually silent. She has not spoken a word since we left Hakon’s. She rides directly towards the house, her shoulders drooped.

Arnor must have heard the horse’s harnesses because he rushes out of the house towards us. I shrink in the saddle when I see the anger burning on his face. I hope it is not all directed at me. My father rarely gets angry enough to yell, but when he does it is terrifying.

“Where have you been?” he bellows. “We’ve been searching the past two days!”

Of the three of us, only Erlendur seems uncowered by my father’s rath. “That snake Hakon stole Jorunn away. We went to retrieve her”. Erlendur dismounts Borg and grabs the horse’s reins.

I am shaking from both exhaustion and fear as I dismount. Erlendur does not reach a hand out to me this time.

My father looks between the three of us. His face softens slightly. “Are you all alright?”

We assure him we are, though Jorunn only continues to sniff and snivel. My father grabs her arm and drags her into the house. A moment later I can hear raised voices and sobbing.

I linger outside, relieved the brunt of my father’s anger is directed at Jorunn for running off, and not at me. But I might be next.

Erlendur takes the horses’ reins and leads them to the stables. I follow him, not ready to go inside just yet.

“I think I’d sooner sleep here in the barn than witness all that drama”. I say lightly. I cringe once it’s spoken. I’ve never been good at using humor to diffuse tension.

Erlendur merely grunts as he unsaddles the horses. I move to help him rub them down and water them.

“Thank you” I say. “For helping me”.

Erlendur nods. “I would have done the same for my sister”.

“You have a sister?” I am surprised. Erlendur barely mentions anything of his life before he came here.

“Had” he emphasizes the word. “Four. All younger”.

I want to ask more, but there is something in his voice that tells me his does not want to discuss his family.

I move towards the door. “I’m sorry”. Erlendur does not respond this time.

“Thank you again” I pause, waiting for an answer that is not forthcoming. “Good night, then”.

I am so tired I sleep until midmorning. I flush with embarrassment when I wake and realize how late it is. I hurriedly dress and go out to do my chores. Jorunn stays in her bed, still crying. I move to get her up, but Asta catches my eye and gestures for me to leave her.

As I move about the farm, completing my chores, something feels off. It takes me a moment to realize what it is.

Erlendur is nowhere to be seen.

A strange sense of panic rushes over me. I run back to the house.

“Asta! Grandmother!” I call.

Asta shuffles in from the other room. “Why are you bellowing like a newborn calf, child?”

“Where’s Erlendur?” I gasp.

“He left”.

There is a sudden weight in my stomach. I feel as if a stone has sunk into my belly. My chest tightens.

My face must show my distress, because Asta is quick to calm me. “Peace, girl, all the men are gone. They left early and went hunting. They’ll be back soon I’m sure”.

I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The stone in my stomach crumbles away.

“When you said he left, I thought you meant for good”. My voice still sounds shaky.

My grandmother scoffs and shakes her head. “Why would he do that? He has a home here”. She moves away, muttering something about “young people”.

The men return in the late afternoon. They stay in the yard, cleaning their kills. A few dozen birds are being cleaned and plucked. Some of them will be placed on the spit for dinner tonight.

I am inside, working on my weaving. The door is open to let in light. I can hear the men talking and laughing outside as they work. Somewhere, one of the dogs is barking. There is the woody scent wafting in from the outside fire where the spit is being set up. A warm summer breeze carries it along. I find the moment content, simple, especially after our adventure the last few days.

Jorunn finally crawled out of bed when the men returned. She is sitting in the corner, fiddling with her spinning whorl. We have not spoken since we left the hall last night. I have not heard Jorunn speak to anyone at all, which is so strange for her.

I cannot fathom that she might have been in love, or at least infatuated with Hakon. He is our family’s enemy! And that is what angers me the most, the feeling of betrayal and disloyalty.

Outside, the voices of the men distract me from my thoughts.

“That crossbow is impressive. You’re a good shot”.

I hear Erlendur reply. “I’ve had a lot of practice”.

Erlendur is proudly discussing his crossbow now. He talks about the modifications he’s made and I hear something about Frankia. I know nothing of that land only that is filled with Christians and lies far to the south, across the sea.

There is more talk about the weapons and raids. Erlendur is speaking about his weapon, launching into an explanation I can’t understand or follow. Erlendur has proven himself time and again to be an efficient warrior and a clever innovator. His knowledge of weaponry impresses me, even though I don’t understand half of what he says.

By evening, the birds have finished cooking and we all settle inside for the evening meal. It is rather awkward, as no one wants to speak of the events from last night. I hurry though clearing the dishes, hoping to have a word with Erlendur. But he retires to bed before I am finished.

“He’s tired” my father notices me watching Erlendur leave. “He did well today. That weapon of his is unlike anything I’ve ever seen”.

“I heard him being complimented”.

“I think he took down a dozen birds all on his own. He’s been very useful to have around, that one”.

“Will you be going on another raid before summer ends?” I ask casually.

My father takes a long draught of ale and nods in confirmation. “We’ll try to at least; maybe if there’s time after the harvest is in”.

The harvest time is often the busiest time of year. We’ll need everyone’s help to get all the crops brought in and the grain prepared and stored for winter. Unfortunately for the men, work will always have to come before raiding.

“So what all happened on your adventure?” my father asks.

I freeze. I have been dreading this question all day. I take a moment to arrange the dishes away neatly on the shelves so I can gather my thoughts. I move to sit on a stool by the hearth and reiterate the tale as best as I can remember it. I stress that Erlendur and I slept apart, though I leave out where he grabbed my arm. I am reluctant to mention Hakon’s boast of having Jorunn’s virginity or Erlendur’s use of the word “whore”. Then I remember her betrayal and my own anger and tell of that as well. I even include Erlendur punching Hakon in the face.

My father is silent throughout my tale. When I am finished, he nods and holds out his cup to be refilled. I fill it for him and wait for his response.

“You tell the same tale as Erlendur”.

“He told you?”

“Because I asked him. He said all the same things you did”. My father stares into the flames a moment. “You swear nothing happened between you—?”

“No!” I shout so loudly I startle one of the hounds lying on the floor. I lower my voice. “I swear to Thor, to all the gods, nothing happened”. I think about how Erlendur grasped my arm and the tingles that ran through me when he did. “We didn’t touch. Not like…”

My father understands. “I know you’re a good girl. I was more concerned about him”.

I know Erlendur can be nasty. I recall his sneer and silence when we first met, how he slaughtered the invaders without flinching, and how he struck Hakon so easily yesterday. Still, I cannot imagine Erlendur being so low as to force himself on a woman.

“He was good. He didn’t make any advances towards me. If it wasn’t for him, I don’t know if I could have gotten Jorunn out by myself”.

“I did not mean to cast doubt on his honor or on your feelings for him—“.

My jaw drops. “My feelings!” I sputter. “I don’t…” I am not even sure what to say.

My father places a hand on top of mine. “Just be careful with your heart. I don’t want you to end up like—“, he breaks off, but I know who he means.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

As we make out way into summer, the weather warms slightly. The time of the hay harvest looms before us. Exactly when to harvest is one of the most important decisions my father makes each year. Harvest too early, the crops will not be ready; they will likely mold. If left too late, the crop will become worthless, as not even the animals will chew the straw.

I look out onto the fields and watch my father walk through them. He runs his hands through the ears as he walks, occasionally breaking an ear in his hand to examine the grain. Finally, the day comes where he announces the harvest can start.

As we will have to harvest by hand, armed only with scythes and sickles, it will take us several weeks to complete the harvest. An experience person may be able to harvest a whole acre in a day, but every capable person on the farm will still have to work together to complete the task.

Over the next few weeks, I awaken while it is still dark to get ahead on my regular chores. Much of my time is spent out in the fields. My father, Jorunn (and her complaints), Erlendur, and most of the tenants and slaves are out with me. The sun beats down on us as we work; at least there is a slight breeze. Every night I collapse back in bed, even more exhausted than usual. We pray and sacrifice to the gods to give us a good harvest, and it seems they have heard.

After several exhausting weeks, the harvest is over, and we can all breathe a bit before winter begins. The men are pleased. They will have time to go on another short raid before the ship has to be stored away for the winter.

Following all the rush of the harvest is another exciting event: Halla’s wedding. I have looked forward to my friend’s important day since her betrothal was announced last Yule. I have been too busy to go into the village and see my friends these past weeks, but I am sure it is all that has been talked about. Sindri is one of the wealthiest men in the area; though he does not have a large amount of land, he makes up for it with hoards of silver and fine furs.

The day of her wedding, I have to go through my regular routine before I can get ready. The pigs and goats don’t care about a wedding. They still expect to be fed. I will not even be able to see Halla before the wedding anyway, as the bride is always attended by married women.

I have a quick bath and go to change. Opening my chest, I reach for the green dress. I have not worn it since the day the men returned from their last raid. I remember how horrible that night was. I hastily stuff the dress back in the chest and select my favorite blue gown. It is still just an everyday dress, but I hope with a bit of jewelry, I can look presentable.

I pull on the gown and am smoothing out the skirt when I notice a faint stain. It is small and reddish-brown. It looks like dried blood.

Then I remember. This was the dress I was wearing when the farm was attacked. The stain is where I pressed my bleeding hand. Still, it is a small stain, and over my knee. I doubt anyone will notice. I don’t have time to change again.

I comb out my hair and leave it loose over my shoulders. I find an apron of darker blue (which conveniently is long enough to hide the stain) that used to be Gudrun’s and I pull it on. Then I fasten the enameled brooch Asta had gifted me years ago on the center of my chest and slip in my best earrings. I line a bit of kohl around my eyes. It is not much, but it will have to do. I don’t want to appear as if I’m trying too hard; Halla would hate any woman upstaging her on her wedding day.

We gather in the wagon to travel to the grove just outside the village. There is a large round grove lined with oak trees where sacrifices and important ceremonies are often held.

Erlendur sits next to me. He is wearing the same blue shirt he wore when he found him, but it is clean now. Jorunn eyes it disapprovingly.

“You’re wearing that?” she sneers, smoothing out her yellow dress. She nods her head at Erlendur.

Erlendur sends a sneer right back. “This is still the best shirt I own. It’s my favorite. My mother made it for me”.

“But it’s so—“ Jorunn is cut off my Asta.

“I think we all look very presentable”. She straightens her shawl with great importance. “But this day is about the bride and groom. I expect all of us to act appropriately”. She looks at Jorunn from the corner of her eye. Jorunn is clearly careful to not meet her gaze.

We arrive at the grove early. Some others from the village are already there. We mingle about until a horn blows overhead. We gather into a half-circle around the grove, leaving room in the center for an aisle. Sindri and the _gothi_ who will perform the ceremony wait at the front under the largest oak tree.

Halla’s family and her attendants move down the aisle to their places at the front. A young boy is carrying a sword almost as long as he is. A sword is the traditional gift given by a bride to her new husband. Though I have never heard of Sindri being any sort of fighter; I suspect this is simply for tradition.

Sindri is a short man, shorter even than Erlendur. His head is shaven, but he sports a full black beard. His brown eyes shine with intelligence. He is well-dressed in a fine black tunic, embroidered with gold thread.

I spot Freydis in the crowd near the front. Gorm and his wife Sigunn are on her left. Freydis spots me and gives a little wave. I wave back. Then we all turn to watch the bride make her way to her betrothed.

Halla looks beautiful. She wears an expensive dress of red wool. Gold brooches are on her shoulders, attached together by a gold chain. Colorful flowers decorate her unbound hair. Bracelets jingle at her wrists.

As she passes by, I notice her trembling, but the smile on her face does not falter for a moment. I know she has been waiting for this day forever.

I watch the ceremony; they sacrifice not one, but three animals: a large goat, a sow, and a boar-pig. The blood of the animals is carefully flicked over the couple. I notice Halla cringe slightly when droplets hit her dress. The flesh of the animals will be used in the wedding feast tonight.

The ceremony seems to drag on. The hot summer sun breaks through the tree leaves to strike our faces. A large group of people gathered together does nothing to help the afternoon heat.

Finally, they are pronounced married. Halla beams as everyone applauds the new couple. I join in, but feel a strange sense of wistfulness as I do.

The bridal party makes their way to the fields where the wedding feast will be held. The parties are supposed to race, with the losing party serving ale to the others. It seems Halla would win; she is practically dragging the others along in her excitement.

Before the feast can begin, there is the consecration of the hammer. A hammer, symbolizing Mjolnir, the hammer of Thor, is placed in the bride’s lap by her husband. It is believed this will bless her in childbearing. The couple must also drink from a shared cup, to symbolize they are now related. With these formalities completed, they are officially married and the feasting can begin.

I am amazed at the amount and expense of the food. The tables seem to groan under the weight of all the dishes. Spit-roasted beef and goat, covered in a juniper and fennel sauce, and spit-roasted swine topped with a honey glaze. Fruit freshly harvested and baked with goat cheese and nuts. A variety of fresh breads and cakes. Baked haddock, lamb stew, oysters, boiled rabbit, and fried goose. There are two kinds of mead, ale, and a lovely-smelling red drink I don’t recognize.

All of the wedding, from the clothing of the bride and groom, to the seemingly endless feast, displays the bridegroom’s wealth. I have not given much thought or desire to wealth before, having felt content on the farm, but as I admire Halla’s beautiful red dress and taste the many delicious dishes, I feel a tinge on envy. Halla will be mistress of Sindri’s home. She won’t have to milk the goats or get her hands dirty. The most work expected from her will be to manage the food stores, spin and weave the cloth, and raise children.

I stuff a rather large hunk of beef into my mouth, feeling guilty. I recall Halla’s words about how challenging it is to be a wife and mother. Just because we may lead different lives, does not mean her duties as a wife will be any less difficult.

I eye the red drink, tempted to taste it. “Wine” Erlendur says, noticing my gaze. “Imported from Frankia probably”.

“Is it good?” I ask.

Erlendur grimaces. “I don’t like it. You might”.

I decide to try it and pour a small amount in my cup. I bring the cup to my lips and swallow it. It tastes like fruit, yet it is rather dry. I recognize the alcohol in the drink, which is much stronger than the ale I’m used to. I gag a little and start to cough.

“You don’t like the wine?” Erlendur asks in a light, teasing voice. I shake my head, unable to answer.

“I had the same reaction when I first tried it. It must be an acquired taste”.

I push the rest of the wine away from me and go back to eating.

“Have you met Sindri before?” Erlendur asks me through a mouthful of goat cheese and bread.

“Have you ever learned not to talk with food in your mouth?”

Erlendur actually looks embarrassed and quickly swallows. He grabs his cup and takes a long drink. “So, have you met him?”

“Not really” I say, taking a drink of the much safer ale. The taste of the wine still lingers in my mouth. “I’ve heard plenty of him though, that I feel as if I have. He’s a merchant; one of the wealthiest men in the village”.

Erlendur nods to show he’s heard me. “We should introduce ourselves”.

I am surprised Erlendur is eager to meet someone new, but I do not protest. I have not had a chance to speak with my friends all day, not even to congratulate Halla.

Once most of the feasting is done, music begins to play. People congregate with each other, or go to speak to the bride and groom. Others have taken to the center of the field and started dancing. Throughout the celebration, there will be feasting, dancing, and games.

Erlendur and I make our way up to the main table. I am impatient with the people ahead of us. They seem to talk forever with Sindri.

Finally, they move away and we can go forward. “Halla!” I say once I reach her. “I’m so happy for you. Both if you” I quickly add, nodding to Sindri.

Halla’s face is shining. “Thank you. This has been the best day of my life! I can’t wait until you get married— I mean if you get married—then I could be one of your attendants!”

Sindri speaks before I can respond. “Perhaps, wife, you can introduce me to your friend?”

“Oh!” Halla blushes a little at the word ‘wife’. “This is my friend Brynja Arnorsdottir. And this is...” she breaks off and eyes Erlendur. The smile that has covered her face all day fades.

“Erlendur Horiksson” Erlendur addresses Sindri. “I work on Arnor’s farm”.

I am startled a bit. I cannot recall Erlendur ever mentioning the name of his father.

Erlendur is asking Sindri about his work as a merchant and the places he’s traveled. While the men are talking, Halla tugs at my sleeve and indicates me to step away.

I move with her down the table. She stares at the grains in the wood.

“What?” I ask.

“I was a little afraid you wouldn’t come” Halla says. Her voice is so soft I have to strain to hear. “I’m sorry about what I said to you a few weeks ago. About…”

“Hakon” I finish.

“Yes. I should have been more considerate and I’m sorry. I thought it would be good for you; I didn’t realize…” she breaks off and for a moment I think she’s going to cry.

“Don’t cry” I say, placing my hand on her shoulder. “It’s your wedding day. The happiest day of your life, remember? And I forgive you. I know you only had my well-being at heart and I appreciate that”.

Halla stops sniffling. “Really?”

“Yes. We should get back to your husband”.

Halla smiles again. “I’m so relived! I was afraid you wouldn’t want to be friends anymore!”

“We’ve been friends since childhood. It will take a lot more than something like that to end it” I assure her.

“Just think” she says as we walk back up the table. “One day you might be married. I could help you plan the wedding”.

“Yes, I just need to find one important thing first”.

“What?”

I grin a little, feeling lighter than I have in a while. “Someone who would marry me”.

“Well, I know not to say Hakon”. She tilts her head as if in thought. “Maybe you could marry Erlendur!” she sounds serious.

I laugh out loud, though I don’t know why. “He is a farm hand for my father”.

Halla shakes her head, blonde hair swaying. “He already lives with your family; he practically is family already”.

I remember the words Asta said: “He has a home here”. “Maybe” I say slowly.

We reach her husband. I am grateful for the conversation to end before it goes down a path I don’t want it to. Erlendur and I wander away from the table into the crowd.

The sun is lower in the sky, but it is still warm out. ‘Would you care for a drink?” I ask. I hope Erlendur does not ask about my and Halla’s conversation.

Erlendur agrees to a drink and we get two drinking horns filled with ale.

We wander away from the main crowd to some trees along the edge of the field. There is a bit of shade we can stand in and admire the festivities.

“Oh, look!” I point to the center of the field. “Halla and Sindri are dancing”.

Erlendur follows my gaze. “He’s stepping on her feet”.

I giggle, slightly light-headed from the ale and the sun.

Erlendur clears his throat. “Would you…like to dance?”

I sense he has only asked me because he assumed my pointing out the bridal couple meant I wanted to dance too.

“I’m not the best dancer” I say slowly. My heart pounds against my ribs in protest. I would like to dance with him.

“I’m alright at it” Erlendur is saying. “I learned a little as a child, but I spent more time learning about being a warrior than a gentleman. Clearly, my parents didn’t care if my table manners were horrid, so long as I could swing a sword”.

There is a strange edge in his voice. I swallow the rest of my ale and look away, pretending to study the dancers.

“Come on,” Erlendur too swallows the rest of his ale and sets his drinking horn aside. He holds his hand out to me.

I stare at it a moment, notice the calluses on his fingertips and palm. Without thinking, I take his hand and allow him to lead me to the rest of the dancers.

When we reach the field, a new song is playing. I go through the motions of the dance in a bit of a haze. Erlendur was lying; he is a good dancer, almost as good as he is a fighter. I feel awkward and inadequate next to him.

“Maybe you should ask to dance with the bride” I say casually. “She’s much better at this than I am”.

Erlendur shakes his head. “I don’t want to dance with Halla. She’s getting enough attention as it is”.

From the right of us, I see Jorunn sitting at our table with Asta, glaring at us. No one has asked her to dance. I wonder how much word of her actions with Hakon might have gotten out. My father was the only person I spoke of to it, and I don’t think Erlendur has been telling many people. But I’m certain some of the tenants and slaves may have found out. People always love a reason to gossip.

I turn my head away from my sister to look at Erlendur. I notice a thin red line along the left side of his face. It has always been there.

“Where did you get that scar?” I ask, indicating it with a wave of my hand.

“That one?” He looks up, as if trying to remember. “I think this one was on a Wessex raid—that’s a country west of here. We got into a large battle with their king and his warriors. It…it didn’t go well”.

“You lost?”

“We lost”.

“At least you survived,” I say.

“What about you? Any interesting stories behind your scars?” Erlendur asks, then adds hurriedly, “If you have any I mean”.

“I have scars. But unless tripping over a plow when you’re ten and cutting your leg is interesting, then no, I don’t have any stories”.

“I have another scar along my jaw on the right; you can’t see it because of my hair though. First time I went to raid in Frankia, I was hit in the face with a crossbow arrow”.

I cringe. “Maybe you should wear a helmet”.

Erlendur actually laughs. I try to recall if I’ve heard that sound before. It seems strange to see him smiling and laughing.

I realize we have been dancing through several songs now. It is getting very late and bonfires are being lit so the celebration can continue.

“I’m a bit tired from the dancing,” I tell him, which is true. “I’m going to get another drink”.

We make our way to the cauldrons of ale and mead. This is my third drink of the night, and it is slightly stronger than the everyday watered down ale I’m used to.

Between the ale, the dancing, and now the warmth of the fire, my head is spinning. Yet I feel light and relaxed, even happy.

We retreat back to our spot under the trees. By now it is dark enough the place is shadowy and cool. We settle in the grass. I think I see shapes moving under the trees around us and realize we are not the only couple of people here.

I hear a few gasps and someone—a woman, judging by the voice—moans. I blush in embarrassment, realizing we’ve stumbled upon a couple in an intimate position. I tug at Erlendur’s arm so we can move and give them some privacy, but he does not budge. He is staring intently at the half-shadowy figures.

“Freydis?”

I jerk around and stare at the other couple. There is some faint light between the bonfires and the newly risen moon. I realize he is correct as I see Freydis’ blonde hair shining in the light. She looks up at up and gasps.

We both gape back at her until the figure next to her moves into the light. It is another woman, a little older than I, with straight dark hair and a hawk-like face. Freydis is trying to look at us in a dignified expression, difficult with the front of her dress undone, and leaves in her hair.

“Freydis, what are you doing? Who is this?” I gasp.

“Hello, Brynja. Erlendur. This is um…Thora. She is one of Sindri’s serving women and my friend”. She adds the last words with pride.

“Hello” Thora says to us. “I’m glad to meet Freydis’ friends. She speaks so highly of you both”. Thora smiles at us, revealing small, straight teeth. She does not seem as embarrassed as Freydis or I.

I have no idea what to say or do. An awkward silence settles on the four of us. Finally, Erlendur clear his throat.

“We’ll leave you to your…ah…we’ll leave you be”. He takes hold of my arm and pulls me away.

Once we are out of their hearing, I jerk away. “Were Freydis and that woman…?” I cannot finish the question.

“Yes, I think so” Erlendur says calmly.

“Oh. I mean, it’s not a big issue, I’m just surprised”. I stumble over the words. “She always said how she never wanted to marry a man, but I never thought…”

“Does it bother you if your friend is attracted to other women?” Erlendur asks.

“No!” I sharply insist. “It surprised me, that’s all. She’s never said anything about it”.

“Maybe she was afraid of how people would react. I’m sure her father would rather she marry a man: get a bride-price, forge alliances, more grandchildren, things like that”. He pauses. “At least, those are reasons my father always gave me for getting married”.

“What about love? Respect? Did none of those things matter?”

Erlendur opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it again. We sit in silence for a while. I quickly drink the rest of my ale. My head is spinning. I sink onto the ground. Erlendur sits next to me and finishes off his own drink. I study him under half-closed eyelids.

Erlendur is not as thin as when he first arrived. The work of farming has left his muscles more defined; his skin has been tanned by the sun. The glow of the firelight illuminates the outline of his sharp jaw.

We are sitting close enough I could touch my body to his. Our lips are mere inches away. I stare at his mouth, admiring the full pink lips.

I realize Erlendur is staring back at me. His eyes, like mine, are half-lidded, but the expression on his face is unreadable.

Erlendur takes hold of my arms and pulls me even closer to him. His chest presses against mine. I gasp a little when my body meets his, but the feeling is not unpleasant. The corners of Erlendur’s mouth curve upward. We are so close I can see myself reflected in his eyes.

“You’re too hesitant. Just kiss me”.

I am taken aback. “Is it so obvious I want to?” the words are out of my mouth before I realize what I’ve said. I blame it on the ale I’ve consumed. I wonder how much Erlendur has had.

Erlendur’s smile widens and I feel his warm breath against my cheek as he whispers “It is to me”. Then he presses his lips to mine. This time, it is not a dream.

His lips are softer than I imagined them to be. Despite how real my dream had felt, it was nothing but a mere shadow to this. Here, there is warmth on my mouth, strong hands gently grasping my sides.

I can barely think. I raise one hand up and wrap it around his neck, running my fingers up into his silky hair. I dread the thought of our bodies separating.

It takes a moment for me to realize the scandalous position we’re in. Moments ago, we discovered Freydis and another women getting intimate in the woods. Now, I am sitting on the forest floor, my arms wrapped around the neck of man I’ve known only six months, our lips passionately locked together.

I come back to my senses and pull away.

“What?” Erlendur is frowning.

I shake my head hurriedly. “I...I can’t. I’m not…”

“What?” Erlendur says again, this time sounding frustrated.

“I’m not a whore! I can’t…” I scramble to my feet, brushing dirt off my dress.

Erlendur tries for my hand, but I pull it out of his reach. “I never said you were a whore. It’s just a kiss”.

“But my sister! You said—“.

“Your sister ran off with another man, one she wasn’t married to, and had sex with him” Erlendur says in a cold sneer. “This is nothing like that”.

“How is it different?” I ask. I don’t know why I am acting this way, but I suddenly feel so frightened and confused.

“Well, for one thing, unlike Hakon, I actually care about you!”

We stare at each other in silence. I cannot grasp the words Erlendur has just said to me. I feel very hot and dizzy.

Everything seems dark for a moment. Then I hear Erlendur’s voice. “Had a bit too much ale. Fainted”.

I open my eyes and find myself on the ground, leaning against that table we’d eaten at. The party is finally clearing away. Sindri and Halla likely went to their wedding night a long time ago.

Asta dabs at my face with a damp cloth, muttering something to herself. I turn away from her in shame.

I look to where Erlendur is standing a few feet away, talking with my father. He refuses to look at me.


	9. Blood and Burns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning: this chapter is much darker than previous ones. There is some violence, an attempted rape/assault scene, and a character death.

I have little recollection of the journey home that night. I somehow manage to stumble into the house unaided, remove my dress and jewelry, and collapse into bed. I sleep fitfully that night. When I awaken, my head aches and I feel even more exhausted than when I lay down. I have to force myself to get up in the morning.

Summer is rapidly coming to a close and the men are in a hurry to go on one more raid before winter. Dinnertime discussions go back to the ship and weapons. Erlendur and my father discuss the different places they’ve sailed to and where might be best to go for a short trip.

I can pay little attention to all of the talk. I have my own responsibilities to worry about, especially since the men will be gone again. Sometimes my mind will wander back to the night of Halla’s wedding, when Erlendur kissed me and claimed he cared about me. There are moments where I wonder if I haven’t imagined the whole thing.

It is only a week since the wedding when the men are once again preparing the ship. It seems already a long time ago. Halla has been so…preoccupied with being a wife I’ve had no chance to see her. I long to be able to discuss my feelings with someone. The past week has been so busy I’ve had no time to go to the village to see my sister or friends. I suppose I could speak to Asta, as she was once a young woman, but speaking to my elderly grandmother about confused feelings I have for a farmhand is not a conversation I expect to go well.

The day the men leave is sunny and surprisingly warm, though a cool breeze blows down from the northeast. I hope it will help them to move quickly.

Between the business of preparing for the raid, Erlendur and I have barely spoken to one another. I think he is deliberately avoiding me; he is acting much the same way as when he thought I was betrothed to Hakon: scowling and walking away when he sees me, sometimes ignoring me when we are in the same room. During mealtimes I never noticed him looking in my direction even as we sat across the table from each other.

I follow my father and Erlendur onto the docks to help them load their storage chests and weapons onto the ship. My father hugs me hard.

“Be good. Be safe” he whispers to me.

“I will” assure him. He gives me a kiss on the head.

I turn to Erlendur, figuring I should tell him goodbye, but he’s already gotten onboard, his back to me.

Anger knots itself in my stomach. I have been just as uncomfortable about what happened that night, but I have not gone out of my way to ignore Erlendur either. He has spent the past week as if I no longer exist.

I march back up the dock to go into the village. I am surprised to see Freydis striding towards me. She is back in her trousers and tunic, this time with a leather jerkin fastened over it. A round shield is slung over her back and she is grinning.

I hurry to meet her. “You’re going again?”

If her grin widens anymore, it would split her face. “Yes! And I don’t have to sneak off this time. Father has given his blessing!”

The anger I felt a moment again dissipates and is replaced by joy for my friend. “Freydis, I’m so happy for you! But are you not afraid?”

Her smile falters slightly. “A little. But this has been my dream forever. I’m scared, but I can’t let it hold me back. I’m going to be a shieldmaiden”.

Not for the first time, I admire my friend’s courage and determination. “May the gods keep you then” I say, reaching out to hug her. We embrace and she makes her way to the ship.

I wander back into the village. Freydis is going off to realize her dream. She isn’t allowing fear to stand in her way. Halla has been married, as she has always dreamed.

What are my dreams? I don’t think I have the strength, physically or otherwise, to be a shieldmaiden. I have always assumed I’d marry and be a wife, manage a farm, and have children. That does not seem like a terrible fate; having grown up on a farm, I know it is a noble profession and there is much honor in it. After all, everyone has to eat and the wool from our sheep is made into cloth for clothes. Surplus materials are traded or sold. Most people I know make their living by being farmers.

Yet if I had more choices, what would I do? As a child, I fantasized about becoming a volva, a wise-woman, though some confused it with seidr-practitioners, and regarding them with suspicion. My father had always been one such man. He said he would respect a volva if he ever met one, but would also treat her with great caution.

I was unable to grasp what he meant, with my young child’s mind. Assuming he meant he would avoid a volva, I pushed aside the dream of being one. I did not think, even as child, that I would be happy if my being pushed people away.

As I grew older I became more preoccupied with responsibilities and learning to be a wife that I had little time for childish dreams. By the time I became a woman, Gudrun was already married and living away, so much of the household running fell to me. That I was merely twelve years old at the time was not an issue. I had started to bleed; I was becoming a woman, and I had to act like one.

The sound of my name draws me from my thoughts. I look up to see a dark-haired woman coming towards me. She smiles at me as if we were old friends.

“Hello, Brynja. I was hoping to catch you”.

“Oh, hello, um…” It is the woman Freydis was with, but her name has escaped me.

“Thora, if you forgot” she says like she knew what I was thinking. In the morning light, I can get a much better look at her than I could that night in the woods.

Thora is tall, almost as tall as some of the men. Her hair is dark brown and completely straight, falling to her mid-back. With her height, she appears gangly, yet she moves with a sense of fluidity. Everything about her face seems large—her huge brown eyes, appearing even larger with kohl around them, her long, beak-like nose that takes up much of her face, and her plush pink lips—yet, it seems perfectly balanced. I am envious of how her body curves perfectly and of the wideness of her hips. She appears attractive without much effort.

“I wanted to talk to you about the night of Halla’s wedding” Thora is saying. She has a slight, strange accent that makes me wonder where she hails from. “I care about Freydis, but I don’t want there to be any awkwardness between us. Perhaps we can be friends too?”

I am startled by this. “I’m not bothered by Freydis and you being…” I pause. I was going to use the word “lovers”, but I don’t know the extent of their relationship. Calling someone your lover sounds so formal and official. “Together” I finally say.

“Good. Freydis assured me you were an understanding person. And the other one?”

“Other one?”

“The man that was with you. Your lover?”

I blush furious, to my annoyance. Thora clearly has no problem with the word. I swallow and hope my voice doesn’t betray me. “His name is Erlendur. He works on my father’s farm. He is the one that’s been training Freydis”.

“Oh, yes, I remember now! Freydis mentioned him to me. She really admires him, as a warrior of course”. She smiles like she’s said something funny.

“And you?” She goes on before I have any chance to respond. “What is he to you?”

I go to speak, but stop myself. I have no idea how to define my relationship to Erlendur. At this moment, I don’t know whether I could even call him a friend. “He is just a farm hand for my father” I say.

“Oh”. Her eyes widen and seem to take up most of her face. “I was under the impression…”

“Well, you were wrong!” I have become annoyed with this woman’s interrogation. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to be getting home. I have things to do”.

I walk around her and hurry away. I almost expect her to follow me, but when I glance back over my shoulder she is gone.

……………………………………………………………………………………………….

I hope I have not ruined my chances of getting along with Thora, for Freydis’ sake. I know she would love for us all to get along.

This worry, along with all my previous ones, jostle around in my mind for several days after. Finally, I can take no more. I few days after my encounter with Thora, I hurry through my morning chores and go to the stables. I hope a long ride might clear my head.

I saddle Surt, a large black stallion belonging to my father and one of his fastest horses. The stallion is a bit large for me, and my father often discouraged me from riding him, as he felt Surt to be more horse than I could handle. But at this moment all I want is for some fast, strong hooves that can carry me away from my troubles.

The stallion snorts and prances in excitement as we leave the barn. I mentioned to Asta I’d be going for a ride, but did not mention where or what horse I was taking. I know this is foolhardy of me, but I can’t seem to care at the moment. For once, it seems, I want to be a little more reckless. I shake my head at the thought as I pull myself onto Surt’s back. He is so tall I cannot get on without something to stand on; I make do with using an overturned crate.

I hold Surt back as we leave the farm yard. As we enter the trees, I allow him to move to a quick trot. He snorts and pulls against the reins, eager to go even faster. It takes all my strength to control him.

At a break in the trees, I see a large field stretch before us. I allow Surt his head and let him race across it. Some strands of my hair come free from its braid and blow about my face. The wind strikes my face. For a moment, there is only me and this horse, the sun and wind. It is a wonderful, liberating feeling.

We are coming back towards trees, so I slow Surt back into a trot. He is more willing to obey now, with all the excitement worked out. I stroke his neck and coo praise into his ear. His ears flick back and force as he listens to me.

I look up and peer through the trees, trying to find the sun. I am not entirely sure how far we’ve gone. I think we’ve been heading north or northwest. We must have been gone an hour at least.

There is a rustling noise and a twig snaps somewhere to the side of us. Surt snorts and prances to the side. He ears are turned towards the sound. I pat his neck.

“It’s alright, boy. Just an animal, I’m sure”. Surt quiets and we move along.

I know I ought to be heading back, but this ride is the most relaxed I’ve been in weeks. I don’t want to count the night of Halla’s wedding, where my ease can with the help of strong ale.

We continue along the trail, with only bird and insect noises around us. I am so caught up in enjoying myself that I don’t notice the clinking noise at first.

It is the sound of metal. I pull Surt up. He stops and lifts his head. His ears flicker and he snorts. I can tell he has sensed something, but I don’t know what. There is someone around us, I’m sure, but I can’t see anyone through the thick trees.

There is another snapping noise of a branch. Without warning, Surt bolts. I am nearly thrown from the saddle. I barely manage to keep my seat. I pull back on the reins as hard as I can.

“Whoa, boy!Whoa!” I shout over the wind whipping through my ears. It is no use. Surt does not want to stop and am I unable to control the stallion. My father may have been right in Surt being too much horse for me.

Surt slows and seems to stop. I think I may have gotten him under control. This thought has hardly crossed my mind when the horse rears. This time I cannot stay in the saddle and pitch backwards. I hit the ground with a thud. My back aches where I landed.

I look up and see why Surt stopped. There are at least half a dozen men in front of us and to the sides. They move around the trail so we are surrounded. The man in front starts to laugh and my heart sinks as I recognize him.

It is Hakon.

“I told you, did I not, that I would return, Brynja? And you’ve made it far too easier for me!”

I force myself to my feet and hurry back to Surt. The stallion’s head is high and alert, but thankfully he is still enough for me to grab his reins.

I try to pull myself back into the saddle, but it is too high without an aid. I feel someone grab my braid and pull. I cry out in pain and fall back from the saddle. Surt’s reins slip from my hands.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hakon’s voice has become a snarl. “Do you remember what I said when you were in my hall? This is not over”.

Surt’s reins are tossed to one of his men. He shoves me into the dirt.

“This girl and her family have caused me enough problems. Women need to be in their proper place: over a cooking fire or in a man’s bed!” Hakon is shouting to his men and they all laugh in response.

I try to crawl away from him, but he grabs my leg and drags me back. “No!” I scream, my fingers clawing at the ground. I hear a ripping noise as my skirt is torn.

“I’m going to make an exception for this one, though!” He grabs me by the arms and drags me over to a fallen log. I struggle against his grasp, but know there is no way for me to break free. He flings me unceremoniously across it. I try to get up but he grasps my hips and pushes me so I am sprawled across the log on my stomach. One of the men grasps my wrists. I jerk and try to break free. When that does not work, I resort to more drastic measures and spit at his face. I have never spat at or struck anyone before, but I am desperate to do anything to get away. This only earns me a slap across the face. I am stunned. I have never in my life been struck by a man, not even my father when he’s disciplined me as a child.

“You’ll regret that!” I force myself to sound strong. “My father will—“

“Your father and your friend—that Erlendur—are gone raiding, am I correct?” Hakon snears from behind me. “They can’t help you. And we are too far from any settlements for someone to hear you scream”.

I hear the sound of clothing being removing and my heart leaps to my throat in fear. I dare to look over my shoulder and see Hakon undoing the front of his trousers. He notices my gaze and smirks.

I am terrified as I guess what is going to happen to me. Hakon has already had Jorunn’s virginity. If he defiles me, would I be ruined?

“No!” I scream again. I cannot even pretend to be brave; I have never been more afraid in my life. “Please! Don’t!” I feel tears running down my face. My checks are burning with shame already.

I feel Hakon grasp my hips with his hard hands. My skirt has been torn and shoved up to my hips. I press my face against the moss-covered log and brace myself against this horrifying fate.

A loud whinny interrupts the silence of the group. Surt trumpets and rears. He kicks out his legs and lunges at the man holding him, his teeth bared.

“Hold the beast!” Hakon shouts. It is clear that is what the man is struggling to do. Another man comes forward and they both grasp the reins. Even together, they can barely control the angry stallion.

Surt breaks free of their grasp and rears again. His cries echo through the woods.

Hakon redoes the ties on his trousers and grabs his sword. He moves towards Surt and raises the sword.

“No!” I scream. Hakon brings the sword blade down on Surt’s flank. The stallion’s screams turn to pain. The blood is dark, just barely visible against his black coat.

Hakon gestures to several of his men. Surt’s blood still drips from his sword. “Take the beats back to my stables and tend the wound. That’s too valuable a creature to let it go to waste”.

“This one on the other hand…” he looks at me as he cleans and sheathes his sword. He grabs my arms and I start to cry again with fear. Instead of being forced back on the log, he drags me to his own mount and throws me onto the saddle, then swings up behind me. His arm is tight across my chest. I see Surt being lead away, limping with pain.

“The rest of you with me. We’ll finish this”. He urges his horse—the chestnut stallion he rode when we first met— forward.

I expect us to follow Surt and go to his hall. But then I realize we are headed in the other direction. My heart sinks as I know where we are going. I notice more men coming forward and joining us. It seems Hakon has had a group of men, at least thirty or more, hidden throughout the woods. And I so foolishly didn’t notice a single one until they were right in front of me.

Hakon and the men ride at an almost leisurely pace. I struggle against his grasp, but cannot get free and out of the saddle. He holds the reins with one hand and with the other he holds me. I feel his hand sliding up and down across my torso. The free hand slides upwards and grasps at my breast.

Anger and humiliation burn through me. I jerk my head back as hard as I can, striking the back of my head against Hakon’s chin. I can’t see his reaction, but hear him cursing in my ear. He pulls his horse to a stop, turns me halfway in the saddle so I am facing him, and gives me the second slap of my life, much harder than the first. I feel a stinging pain in my nose as blood runs from it. My eyes water; I don’t know if it’s a reaction to the pain or more tears.

My fear is confirmed as the farm comes into sight. Everything seems so idyllic, just as I left it a few hours ago. I want to scream, to warn them, but my throat has gone dry.

“Leave the house to me” Hakon is saying in a commanding tone. “Take whatever goods and slaves you can carry. Kill anyone in your way”.

The men race forward. I can hear the screams as people realize they are being attacked. Hakon keeps his horse reined in and surveys the farm as his men pillage it.

I watch in horror as people are cut down. Hakon’s men are like wild animals, slaughtering the men and animals. They drag the women by the hair, pull the children from their arms, and slaughter them all. Tears are streaming down my face. I hate myself for this.

Hakon kicks his horse forward. I close my eyes against the horrors, but I can hear the screaming and smell all the blood. To my right, I hear the sound of a woman crying and pleading just as I had done in the woods. Her screams increase as we pass.

We reach the house. Hakon drags me off his horse and pushes me forward. “Open the door” he orders. I am too frightened to do anything but obey.

“Brynja! What’s going—“Jorunn rushes towards me. Her voice catches in her throat as she sees who is behind me and she screams.

“Shut up, whore” Hakon says coldly. He shoves me forward so roughly I fall to the floor. Jorunn stops screaming and drops to her knees next to me.

“Hakon! What in the name of the gods are you doing?”

I look up and see Asta coming into the room. She is carrying one of the kitchen knives. Her eyes are burning with an anger I’ve never seen in her.

“I’m here to deal with your granddaughters…and the rest of your troublesome family when they get back”.

“If you want my granddaughters, you’ll have to go through me!” Asta raises the knife.

Hakon laughs: a cold, cruel chuckle. “That won’t be much of a challenge!”

I am so shaken from my ordeal in the woods I cannot even look up. I remain on the floor and stare into the dirt. Above me, I hear Asta shouting and chanting something. I recognize it as a curse, a plea to the gods to curse and smite one’s enemy. I had never known my grandmother had knowledge of casting curses. Jorunn whimpers and wraps her arms around my neck.

I force myself to look up. Hakon face changes from an amused expression to pale with fear. Even he is frightened by a potential curse.

“Shut up, you old hag! You don’t know who you’re dealing with!” He draws he sword.

Asta ignores him and curses even louder. I can still hear the screams from outside and I smell something burning.

Hakon lunges forward. His sword is raised, there is a madness burning in his eyes. Jorunn and I both scream and leap to our feet.

As Hakon comes within her reach, our grandmother drives the knife into his shoulder with as much strength as she’s able to summon. He staggers back in shock.

No one speaks as Hakon surveys his bloody wound. Then without a word he turns and stalks out of the house. I hear the lock behind him.

Jorunn and I turn to our grandmother in shock. “That was—“ I start to speak, but Jorunn screams again. She points and Asta.

A bloody wound is appearing on Asts’s stomach. She staggers and drops the knife, where it clatters onto the floor.

We rush to her side as she collapses to the floor. “Grandmother..”

Jorunn grabs a blanket and presses it against the wound. “It’s okay” I say weakly. “You’ll be okay…” I hold her hand in between mine.

“Brynja!” Jorunn gasps and points up. I look to the ceiling. I can hear a crackling noise above our heads. A moment later flames begin to appear. The house is filling with smoke.

“He’s burning it down!” Jorunn gasps.

“Grandmother! We have to—“

“Go!” Asta says weakly. She coughs and blood appears at her mouth. “Leave me. Go out the back”.

“We can’t leave you!” I protest.

“There’s no time. Go.” Her voice is so soft and I can barely hear her over the crackling of the fire. Her hand is limp in between my own.

Jorunn pulls on my arm and I release Asta from my grasp. Tears are flowing down both my face and my sister’s. We crawl to the back of the house, where a wall of wicker hides a secret exit. It is only supposed to be for emergencies. We fierce the wicker aside and crawl out into the summer afternoon.

The burning thatch is falling from the roof. A large piece is falling to land right on us.

“Go!” I cry, pushing Jorunn forward. She gets out of the way, but I feel a searing pain in my shoulder and the flames hit me.

I try not to scream, but it is impossible. The flames strike my right shoulder, and part of my neck and upper back. I can smell burning flesh.

The pain is excruciating. I see spots of color dance in front of my eyes. I hear my name, but the voice sounds far away.

My eyes clear and I realize Jorunn is dragging me away from the house. I gather what strength I have and get to my feet. We half-run, half-crawl away from the farm. I pray we will not be noticed, but Hakon’s men are too preoccupied with burning and looting to notice us. Perhaps they assume we already dead. Then I think of Asta being left behind. My tears flow even harder.

We make it towards the woods and hide behind some trees. Jorunn gasps. I brace against the pain in my shoulder and look behind me.

The entire farm is in flames. I can see the bodies of men and animals lying slaughtered. Even the fields are being burned. Our entire life is going up in flames.


	10. Aftermath

Jorunn and I stagger through the woods. I don’t know where we’re going; all I am aware of is the blistering pain in my shoulder. Jorunn clutches my left hand—on the uninjured arm—and leads me.

Sunlight glistens off of something in front of us. I hear the splashing of water and realize we are at the stream.

“Here” Jorunn takes a strip of her dress and dips it in the stream. She presses the damp cloth against my burned skin. A whimper escapes me as the cold makes contact with my burn.

Jorunn dabs at the wound as carefully as she can, but she does not have Gudrun’s healing touch. Still, I am grateful my sister is for once being considerate.

“Oh, Brynja, this looks terrible! We need to get to Gudrun”. She wrings out the cloth.

I suck in a breath and force myself to look at the wound. The skin is dark red and heavily blistered. Bits of charred cloth stick to it. The wound is throbbing and the pain runs all the way down my arm. I cannot move my arm or shoulder. It even aches to turn my head.

I look up to see my sister staring blankly into the water. “Asta’s dead” she whispers.

Tears form in my eyes again. “Yes, she is”. Jorunn begins to cry and presses her face against my uninjured shoulder. I wrap her in an awkward one-armed hug.

“Wh-what are we g-g-going to do?” Jorunn gasps in between sobs. “We’ve lost everything!”

‘Father, and Elof, and Erlendur will be back soon, I’m sure” I say, but I cannot sound confident. They’ve only been gone a few days. It may be days or weeks before they return. Who knows what will happen in that time.

We wrap our arms around each other’s waists, physically and emotionally supporting one another. I am glad my sister and I are for once getting along, but I wish it hadn’t taken such drastic events for it to happen.

We move through the woods as fast as we can manage; the pain of my wound seems to increase with each step. I barely have the strength to walk.

The journey to the village seems never-ending. I feel we will walk forever and never get anywhere. At least, Hakon’s men do not seem to be following us. I hope they just assume we are dead from the fire; perhaps they will leave us alone now.

I try to force Hakon and the events from earlier today out of my mind. There is so much pain and fear in my heart, my chest physically aches. I pray to the gods Asta’s final curse will be true and Hakon will get everything he deserves.

The pain in my shoulder increases and I feel weak from all the exertion of the day. My knees buckle and I sink to the ground.

“I can’t” I whisper. “I don’t think I can take another step”.

Jorunn crouches down beside me. “Brynja, you’re hurt, I know, but you can make it! We’re so close to the village. I can hear people!”

I gather what strength I have and try to get to my feet. As I do, the pain in my shoulder flares. I see bright spots of color in front of my eyes. I cry out in pain and fall back to the ground.

“Okay” Jorunn is breathless beside me. “It’s okay. Just stay here and I’ll go get help”.

I lean against a tree trunk and try to nod, but the pain stops me.

Jorunn stands. “I’ll be right back. I promise”.

“Hurry”. The pain is worse than anything I’ve ever felt. I close my eyes, as if that will make it go away.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The next things I am aware of are whispered voices and the feel of soft furs underneath me.

“…have to do something”.

“What? Most of the men are gone!”

“This could be a threat to all of us”.

I force my eyes open. I recognize the room I’m in as Gudrun’s house. I have a faint recollection of being brought in from the woods once Jorunn returned with help.

“Hi, Aunt Brynja” a small voice says at my bedside.

I turn my head and see Kari looking at me with wide blue eyes. “Hi, sweetheart”. My voice sounds strangely raspy.

“Mama said you were sick. Are you better yet?”

I realize the pain in my shoulder has lessened considerably. The wound is bandaged in clean cloth and my arm is wrapped in a sling. “A little bit”.

“Brynja, you’re awake!” Jorunn rushes over to me. The dirt and soot that had been on her face is cleaned away; she is wearing one of Gudrun’s old dresses. It is long enough, but as she is thinner than our eldest sister, it still hangs on her.

Using my good arm, I force myself to sit up. “I’m alright. How long have we been here?”

“Just a few hours. You could barely walk when we got here and Gudrun said sleep would help you”.

Loud voices interrupt us. “They cannot stay here!” It is a man’s voice.

“They are my sisters! I will not turn them away” I can see Gudrun’s back to me as she speaks with someone at the door.

Another voice, also male, speaks up. “If want the girl says is true, and Hakon—“

“Are you calling my sister a liar?” Gudrun’s voice is sharp.

Jorunn and I peer past our sister’s form to see several of the village elders gathered at the door.

The man Gudrun questioned replies in a steady voice. “Hakon attacked and destroyed your father’s farm. It’s clear he is a threat to your family. But he may extend his attack to our village as well, if he knows the girls are alive. And he may also come after you and the rest of your family when they return from the raids. If Hakon makes an attack on this village, all our lives will be in danger. For the safety of everyone, they should leave”.

I clear my throat. “And where are we supposed to go?”

Several pairs of eyes turn onto me. Gudrun speaks first. “Brynja, lie down”.

“No. Our farm is destroyed, our grandmother is dead—murdered—and I want to know why the people we’ve known our entire lives would send us away rather than help us!”

The first man who spoke raises his voice. “It is for the safety of everyone!”

“Coward!” Gudrun spits at him. Jorunn gasps and my jaw drops. “Is it not part of our laws, our traditions, that neighbors help one another? An attack on one is an attack on of all. But you would rather send helpless young women away than risk your own hide. Asta was my grandmother, too! If you will do nothing for my family, so be it! Now, if you have nothing more to say, I suggest you leave my house. My sister needs to rest”.

And she promptly slams the door in their faces.

A stunned silence hovers over the room. Gudrun sighs heavily and pushes a loose strand of hair off her face. In the glowing light from the hearth, she looks a decade older.

“I’m sorry about that. I know it’s not like me to get so angry, but after everything that’s happened, and then they said they would do nothing!” She makes a hopeless gesture and sits next to the hearth. Kari moves from where she huddled by my bed to crawl in her mother’s lap. Gudrun clings Kari to her chest and strokes her hair.

I look to Jorunn. “What all did you tell them?”

“Everything. I mean, I told them how Hakon came in with you, and Asta, and the fire—“ she chokes, and starts to cry again.

I feel tears build up in my eyes and hold my good arm out to her. I wrap it around her shoulders as she leans over to hug me. Her tears soak through my sleeve.

We all sit embracing one another in silence.

Jorunn finally breaks away and wipes her eyes. “What do we do now?”

Though we do not want to admit it, the elders have a point. If Hakon came looking for us, everyone would be in danger. I do not want any more people to die because of this.

“You are staying here, for now. I don’t care what people say, you are my sisters. I won’t be sending you away”.

“But if Hakon—“I start to say.

“ _If_ Hakon comes, we’ll deal with him the best we can. He won’t get away with killing Asta or destroying the famr”.

“He did more than that” I mutter in disgust.

“What?” Both of the sisters are looking at me curiously. Even Trygve looks up from where he was playing on the floor, and Kari stares with wide eyes.

“When Hakon came to the farm…you were with him” Jorunn says slowly. “Did something happen?”

My face burns in anger and shame. How can I tell my sisters about the horrible event in the woods? Was that only a few hours ago?

“Brynja?” Gudrun says gently. “What happened?”

I get up and fill a horn with ale. I take a long drink to steady myself and settle back on the bed before I begin.

“I went for a ride. I went into the woods and…I ran right into Hakon and his men. They attacked me. I tried to run away, but they stopped me. Hakon..he” I take another breath and force myself to speak the awful words. “He tried to rape me”.

I heard loud gasps, but I don’t dare look up at their faces. “He didn’t” I add quickly, fearing they may misunderstand. “He tried, though. He got distracted when the horse spooked.”

I wrap my uninjured arm around my chest. “He put me on his horse and we went back to the farm. He fondled me, and when I tried to stop him, he slapped me”. I take another drink of ale. I don’t want to say anymore than I already have. I see no reason to go into details. I’d like to forget the whole event.

Jorunn tries to press me for details, and is shushed with a harsh look from Gudrun. I am grateful; I don’t want to talk about it.

The rest of our night seems quiet, after everything that has happened today. Gudrun fixes a simple stew and bread for us to share for dinner. Afterwards, the children play by the hearth. Gudrun works on her weaving, but she has a look on her face that suggests her mind is far away. Jorunn takes it upon herself to sew up a tear in one of Trygve’s tunics. Jorunn has been unusually considerate today. I catch her eye and raise my brow in question. She shrugs and focuses on her needle.

I roll over on my bed to face the wall. This might have been any other evening, were it not for the events from earlier today. Today, I was assaulted, my grandmother murdered, and my home destroyed. And yet we are all going to be expected to carry on.

I have never hated anyone in my life as I hate Hakon. I never thought I would lust for revenge, but I find myself dreaming of it. I want Hakon to suffer as my family is now suffering.

I use my good arm to pull a blanket over me and pretend to sleep. I want this day to be over.


	11. The Return

The next few days that pass seem like an eternity. With my injured arm, I am unable to be of much help around the house; I am restless without any work.

I would like to go about the village, but I recall the words of the elders. I am not sure I would be welcome.

Still, I cannot resist slipping away in the afternoons to stand at the docks, straining for any sign of a sail, praying to the gods to return our men to us.

Halla comes by one afternoon, as I am returning from another disappointing trip. Her arms are full with a large basket, and two servants follow her, also burdened.

“Brynja!” she cries, hurrying over to me. “Oh, I heard about your farm. I’m so sorry!”

“Thank you” I tell her. I nod to the basket she’s carrying. “What is all this?”

“Oh, I thoughts you might need some provisions. I was taking them to Gudrun’s”.

We make our way to the house. I use my good arm to open the door. Halla and her servants pile their bundles on the table. Gudrun stares in shock.

“What is all this?” she asks.

Halla is eagerly unwrapping the baskets and bundles, revealing containers of foodstuffs and extra cloth of wool. She explains as she works. “I heard about what happened, and I’m very sorry. I knew you’d have extra people in your house, and with winter coming soon…well, I thought you might appreciate some extra supplies. We have more than enough to spare”.

Jorunn is tracing her finger along the pattern of one of the cloths. “You really didn’t need to”.

Halla shakes her head. “We are friends. I know we’re supposed to respect the elders, but I’m not going to stand by and let my friends struggle, not when I can help them”.

I think I see tears in Gudrun’s eyes, but she swipes at them hurriedly. “Thank you, Halla. We are indebted to you and your husband. How can we repay you?”

Again, Halla shakes her head. “Just get through this winter. And get rid of Hakon. I can’t believe I was impressed with him when I first saw him!”

“Neither can I,” Jorunn says with a sad smile.

Halla returns the smile, but an uncomfortable silence settles on our group. A horn sounds from outside. My heart leaps into my throat and my chest feels tight with anxiety. Just the mention of Hakon’s name makes me uncomfortable now, and I am so afraid he will find us.

“What now?” Gudrun mutters. She pushes past us to go out the door and we follow. I cannot quite see what is happening, but then I hear someone shout “Thank the Gods!” The tightness in my chest eases.

I can see the blue and white sail on the horizon. The raiding party has returned.

Much like at the return of the first raid, cries of joy and excitement fill the air. I stand on tiptoes, straining for a glimpse of my father or Erlendur in the crowd.

“Brynja, over here!” Jorunn grabs my uninjured arm and points with her other hand. We make our way through the crowd of happily reuniting families, and find our father.

“Papa!” Jorunn cries. Our father looks us and grins when he sees us, holding his arms out. We rush into them.

“My girls. I missed you!” He holds us tightly and I wince against my injury. My father notices and releases us. “Brynja, what happened to your arm?”

“It’s a long story,” I say quickly, sending Jorunn a look. I don’t want to go into all the details in public. “We’ll explain everything back at Gudrun’s”.

“At Gudrun’s?” He looks between our grim faces. “Girls, what is going on? What happened?”

“Asta is dead!” Jorunn blurts out. I suck in a sharp breath. I want to throttle Jorunn for bringing these things up in public but ease my anger at the look on her face. She is near to tears.

Our father looks bewildered. “My mother is dead?” he whispers.

“Come back to Gudrun’s, papa” I plead. “We’ll explain everything there”.

My father does not reply to me, but looks over his shoulder towards the dock. “Erlendur!” he shouts. He makes a gesture with his head for Erlendur to come to us.

There is a funny feeling in my stomach as Erlendur strides up the dock towards us. He looks well; I don’t see any signs of injuries. His beard seems slightly thicker than when he left; his hair longer and flowing over his shoulders. But he smiles when he sees us—when he sees me—and I hope this means he’s forgiven me for the fiasco at Halla’s wedding.

“Brynja! How—what happened to your arm?”

My father gives Erlendur a stern look. “We are going to Gudrun’s. The girls are going to explain everything. Clearly, a great deal has happened in our absence”.

I shiver at my father’s cool voice. He’s not wrong. I just hope he isn’t too angry with us. With me, rather.

We make our way solemnly back to the house, pausing to put smiles on our faces and greet neighbors and friends. My cheeks ache from the force of pretending.

We finally all settle back inside the house; the world shut away from us. Erlendur and my father sit on chairs at one end of the hearth. Jorunn and I sit at the side. Gudrun cuddles Kari on the bed, and Elof leans against the wall, his arm draped over Tyrgve’s shoulders. My whole family gathered together in this one-room house.

My father takes a drink of the ale Gudrun has provided everyone and locks his gaze at me. “So, what happened? Tell us from the beginning”.

Jorunn looks at me. I take a breath and force myself to remember the events of the past days.

“A few days after you had left. I went for a ride. I was on Surt”.

“What were you doing on him?” my father sharply interrupts. “I’ve told you before I didn’t want you riding him”.

I cringe at the anger in his voice. “I’m sorry. He hadn’t been ridden in a long while and I thought I could handle him”. My father is clearly upset with me. I am terrified to explain the rest of my story. Is he going to blame me for Asta’s death and the destruction of the farm, as I blame myself?

“Father” Gudrun speaks from her place on the bed. “We have all had a difficult past few days. Let Brynja explain before you get angry”.

My father settles back in his chair. I swallow and force myself to explain the events from the woods again.

“I was riding through the woods, and…Hakon’s men found me”. One of the men—Erlendur or Elof—groans. I don’t dare look up at their faces. I keep my eyes on the flames in the hearth; they are somehow comforting.

“Hakon…attacked me. He...he tried to…” My throat closes up from building tears. I choke against them. “I’m sorry”.

“Did he rape you?” Erlendur’s voice is soft, but laced with venomous anger.

That awful word. I shake my head no. “He wanted to. And they stole Surt”. I wipe at the tears on my cheeks and take a drink of ale, hoping to break the lump in my throat. I just want to curl up somewhere and cry. Perhaps this is all just some terrible nightmare and I’ll wake up in my bed at the farm, Asta fusing at me to start my chores, everything back to the way it should be.

“He—Hakon—put me on his horse and we went back to the farm with his men. I was on the horse sitting in front of him and he was…groping me”. I fold my arm over my chest. I don’t want to talk anymore. I glance over at Jorunn, hoping she will take over.

She takes the hint. “I was at home, in the house with grandmother. We heard some shouting and screaming coming from outside. I looked and saw men attacking the farm. They were killing people, and burning things”.

“Then, the door opened and Brynja came in with Hakon. I was so scared I started screaming. Asta…she was so brave. She stood up to him. She stabbed at him with a knife…and she started cursing him. Not foul words, an actual curse, magic. You could see in his eyes, he was scared of that. He…stabbed at her with his sword. That monster stabbed an old woman because he was afraid of her!”

Jorunn is crying now, too. I still cannot bring myself to look at the men’s faces, who have all been quiet as we’ve spoken.

“And that is how she died?” our father asks, his voice emotionless. “Hakon stabbed her?”

Jorunn composes herself and nods. “He left and he lit the house on fire. We were all still inside. We couldn’t save Asta, but we got out. Brynja pushed me out the back way, but her arm was burned; that’s why she has the sling. But we still managed to sneak away and get to the village”.

“Does Hakon or any of his men know you’re here?” Erlendur asks.

Jorunn shakes her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. They probably think we died in the fire”.

“They may have checked for bodies, though” Elof puts in.

I shiver. I hadn’t thought of them to check, and it is clear from their faces, my sisters didn’t either.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

That evening the village gathers in the communal hall to celebrate another successful raid. I find it funny that the same elders who pushed for us to leave the village a few days ago, now seem to have no problem in letting us stay, since our menfolk have returned.

I sit off to one side, feeling awkward with my arm in its sling. Worse than that, are the pitying looks some of the villagers send our way. It seems word of the events at the farm has spread. My father does not seem so angry with me, as I had feared. Rather, his reaction came for fear of my well-being. He puts on a smile while surrounded by the villagers, but I’m sure he is grieving inside. I want to hug him, to apologize. I feel as if everything that has happened has been my fault and that everyone is angry or pitying towards me. Perhaps that is just how I’m feeling towards myself.

Halla leaves her husband’s side and brings me ale. As usual, she looks lovely. Her clothes have become much richer, more extravagant now that she is the wife of a material-rich merchant. I know she cannot resist displaying her husband’s wealth.

She holds the drink out to me. “Thank you” I say, taking the drinking horn from her.

“Have you seen my sister? She barely said hello to me this afternoon, then ran off looking for Thora. It seems they’ve become friends now that I’m not at home anymore” Halla scowls.

I shake my head. “I was…with my family. I haven’t seen here at all. I’m sure she’s fine”. I realize Freydis has likely not told anyone about the extent of her relationship with Thora. Erlendur and I know, but only because we stumbled upon them in the woods. I have not spoken of it to anyone. I feel guilty, though, for keeping this secret from my friend, but it is Freydis’ choice to tell her sister.

Halla sits down next to me. “I know I’ve already said it, but I want you to know I’m sorry about what happened. About your grandmother and the farm”.

“Thank you” I say again.

Halla places her hand on my uninjured arm. “Sindri has plenty of provisions. And he’s a merchant, so he’ll have connections with people. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask. That goes for your whole family”.

“Again, thank you” I tell her. “Your support and condolences are enough for now. And the raid was successful enough, we won’t be left with nothing”.

Halla is silent for a moment as she stares at the crowd around us. “It seems wrong that we should all be here, happy and celebrating, after all the bad that’s happened. I feel guilty”.

“Don’t! There is always going to be bad in the world. You shouldn’t stop being happy because of that. You’re young and newly married. You have plenty to be happy about”. It is hypocritical of me to assure my friend to be happy, when I feel so miserable, I think. But what are friends for, if not to support one another?

My friend smiles and changes the subject. “Sindri and I have discussed having a family of our own”.

I gasp. “Halla! I’m so happy for you! Truly. Are you already with child?”

Halla shakes her head. “Not yet. But I’ve been praying to the gods. I feel it’s going to happen soon, though”.

The pain of the last few days eases. It is a relief to me to know that good things will still happen, even after all the bad. “I will pray for you as well” I tell Halla.

“Thank you. And know that I’ve made sacrifices on behalf of your family. The gods will provide for you, I know it”.

“I never realized you were that dedicated to the gods”.

A small smile plays on Halla’s lips. “Sindri is. He prays daily, and makes regular sacrifices. His says all the good fortune in his life is due to the gods”.

I recognize the voice that speaks to our left. “Perhaps it won’t hurt for us all to pray a little more. It seems to have done your husband good”.

We both look up to see Erlendur standing over us. I feel that strange warmth in my stomach. Erlendur and I have not really spoken to one another since the night of Halla’s wedding, when he kissed me.

“Have you seen my sister?” Halla asks him.

“Not since we docked the ship. She did much better on this raid than the last. Her technique has improved and she showed a lot of bravery. You should be proud”.

Halla grins. “I didn’t think she could do it, to be honest. But she’s proving me wrong. I’ll tell her that if I see her”.

Erlendur does not answer her. He is staring at me. I don’t know what he thinks of me, after my confession of the past day’s events. I know some men will still blame a woman is she is assaulted, as if she wanted it to happen. It is a disgusting way of thinking.

Halla looks between the two us. “I think I should be getting back to my husband”. She winks playfully at me before making her way into the crowd.

Erlendur and I are left staring at one another. I want to say something, but have no idea what. So much has happened since he left, and even before. I want to discuss that kiss between us, and my reaction to it. I want to tell him that my reaction came from my own fear for my reputation, that I hadn’t meant for it to be a rejection. I want to tell him about the warm feelings I get whenever I look at him. But I don’t know how to put any of this into words, so I stay silent.

It is Erlendur who speaks. “I took your advice”.

I don’t understand. “My advice?”

Erlendur lifts something up so it gleams in the firelight. It is a helmet; the metal shines like silver and the iron faceplate lends it a fierce look. “I got a helmet. Isn’t that what you said at Halla’s wedding?”

I recall my remark after Erlendur told me the stories behind his scars. Though I had only said the words in jest; I hadn’t expected him to take them seriously. I am flattered, though, that he remembered.

“Did it help?”

Erlendur traces a finger down his cheek. “No new scars”.

I look down at my arm in its sling. Even with all of Gudrun’s medicines, I am still likely to have scars on my shoulder and neck where I was burned.

Erlendur’s eyes widen as he comes to this realization. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—“

“It’s fine” I say quickly. “It’s not as if I can’t cover them...”

“All real warriors have scars. Some are harder to see than others. But you shouldn’t be ashamed of them. Scars just mean you were hurt, but you survived”. Erlendur looks surprised then, as if the words that came from his mouth were not his own.

Moved, I dare to reach out and take his hand in mine. His skin is warm and callused from continuous hard work. “Thank you. What you said…it’s comforting”.

A light shines on his face; he slowly smiles. He pulls his hand from mine and reaches into his pocket and hands something to me.

“I thought you might like this” he mutters. His smile falters and he almost seems embarrassed. I hide a smile and look to see what he has handed me.

In my hand is a beautiful beaded necklace. The firelight catches the glass beads and makes them shine and reflect against my palm in shades of red, blue, and green.

“Thank you,” I say. “It is beautiful”. I go to put it on and fumble with the clasp. It is difficult with only one usable hand.

Erlendur swallows a gulp of his ale and smirks at my awkwardness. “Here”. He takes the necklace from me and moves behind me. I feel his hand brush against the back of my neck as he sweeps my hair out of the way. He gingerly places the beads across my neck and fastens the clasp. I am glad he is behind me as I feel my cheeks flush.

His touch does not bother me as it used to; it is pleasant. But it still sends a warmth rolling through my stomach and up into my chest.

“Do you give all the girls jewelry?” I ask, hoping my voice sounds light and teasing.

Erlendur moves so he is facing me again. “No, just you”.

“Why me?”

He is silent for a moment as he ponders this. When he speaks again, his voice is slow, uncertain. “You make me feel…different”.

I am not sure what he means. I wait for him to continue.

“When I’m around you…” he pauses, as if he doesn’t know how to form the right words. “I feel like I could be a better man”.

I frown, remembering all the times he’s helped on the farm, organized the raids; how he’s saved us. “You don’t think you’re a good man?”

I think a see a harsh smile on the corner of his mouth. “I’m coming to realize just how terrible I’ve been”.

“I don’t understand. You helped us so much. What have you done that’s so terrible?”

Erlendur swallows another heavy gulp of ale and lets out a bitter laugh. “If you knew—“.

He is interrupted by the hall door bursting open. Three armed men enter the hall and stride towards the center. Two of them bear shields with Hakon’s colors. My heart sinks.

Erlendur leaps to his feet and loosens his sword from its scabbard.

The man in the center speaks. “I bear a message from Hakon”.

Silence has fallen on the hall. Everyone waits to hear what the man has to say.

“Hakon is aware of the survival of your daughters” the messenger looks at my father. “He demands you give up the land your farm sat upon, and end any quarrel with him”.

“I had no quarrel with Hakon save for when his family attacked mine! He is the perpetrator here”.

The messenger ignores him. “As a sign that you will abide to this agreement, he demands you send one of your unmarried daughters to him as a concubine. The girl will be cared for so long as you abide by him”.

“Never” my father growls. “Hakon has harmed my family for the last time. He will never lay hands on either of my daughters again!”

“If you refuse to meet his terms, he will gather together his men and take the girls by force. You have already lost your farm. You have nothing to bargain with. Hakon has won”.

“No he hasn’t” Erlendur’s voice carries through the hall. “You can tell Hakon if he wants a fight, he’ll get one. You can tell him to start preparing his grave goods. Because the next time I see him, I’m going to kill him”.


	12. The Battle

Hakon’s messenger departs with Erlendur’s warning. The hall is buzzing now with this latest event. A few people even complement Erlendur on his brave words, while some make bitter comments about whether he can follow through with his threat.

I move over to join my family; their faces are pale and strained. Jorunn looks around with wide eyes. “How did Hakon know?” she asks.

“Maybe Elof was right about them looking for bodies” I say. I am not sure how else Hakon found out, only that I am terrified of seeing him again.

“Perhaps you were betrayed”. Erlendur comes up behind me. I feel him gently place his arm around me, his hand against the small of my back. Normally, I might worry over this public display of affection, but right now I appreciate his comforting touch.

Jorunn is shaking now, in response to Erlendur’s words. “But…who? Who would betray us?”

Erlendur’s face is grim in the torchlight. “I don’t know”.

My father comes over to join us. “It doesn’t matter how he found out. Just as long as he doesn’t get either of you”.

“We have to fight him” Erlendur sets his jaw. “It’s the only way to stop him. I said I’ll kill him and I will”.

“There’s no way you can defeat Hakon!” Someone speaks up from in the crowd; a man’s voice, but I can’t see who. There are shouts of agreement. Everyone is speaking now, but no one can hear what is being said.

Grimar clambers onto one of the tables. _“Enough!”_ he roars. The hall immediately quiets.

Erlendur climbs onto the table next to him. “Listen to me! These people” –here he points at my family—“ have been your neighbors and your friends. This is more than some scheme for a woman. This is about power. Do you think Hakon will stop if we give him what he wants? Do you think there is anything to stop him from claiming your own daughters, or destroying the village?”

Erlendur surveys the crowd, which is completely silenced by his words. A few faces even look guilty.

“Men like Hakon don’t stop. They’ll get one thing they want and go right after something else. Handing over either one of those girls won’t make everything alright. Would you really all agree to send an innocent woman to be that man’s slave? Because that’s what she’d be!”

There are mumbles among the crowd. Some people seem to be agreeing with him. I hear a woman’s voice, though, mutter, “Not that innocent”. I turn and scan the people behind me, but no one meets my eyes.

“If we can fight together, we can defeat Hakon!”

“How?” Ebran speaks up from the back of the room. “Hakon has twice as many men at his call then we have in the whole village. Better trained men, too”.

“Have we not gone on successful raids? Have you men not enough strength to fight for your homes, your loved ones? It doesn’t matter the size of an army, or the skill of the warriors. What matters is their bravery and their heart! One warrior fighting for a cause he believes in is worth twice a well-trained warrior fighting only because he has to!”

Erlendur’s voice is slightly strained from shouting over the hall. There are more mumbles among the crowd.

Elof steps forward. “Arnor’s family is my family as well. And I will fight for them. Who will join me?”

“I will” Grimar announces. “And when all is done, I’ll compose a great poem of the courage of our men. Who doesn’t want to be immortalized for their bravery and strength? Or would you rather all be known as cowards?”

The mumbles rise to shouts. More people are pledging themselves to our cause. Erlendur surveys the crowd and meets my eyes. He smiles at me, clearly proud of his speech. In spite of how afraid I feel, I smile back.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The next few days pass by in a blur. The messenger returned the following day stating that Hakon accepts a fight. We’ve agreed to meet them in a week’s time at the stream—the same stream where I first saw Erlendur. I hope it will not be the last time I see him as well.

Erlendur approves of the idea to fight at the stream; apparently waterways could be used as obstacles. Our army—if thirty or so men is enough to call an army—can line their flanks along the water for defense. Erlendur warns them though, that they don’t want their backs at the river, lest they need to retreat, as they could become trapped.

My arm has gotten well enough to not need the sling anymore. It is a relief, though my arm does feel a bit strange to not be cradled. I am glad to have use of my limbs and do my best to help my sister around the house. I feel it is the least I can do, since we’ve been staying under her roof ever since the fire.

My father, Erlendur, and Elof ride out to inspect the remains of the farm. When they return, they faces are grim. I am too afraid to ask what condition the farm is in—if it was still standing at all.

Jorunn is not and piles the men with questions before they have the chance to dismount their horses. My father only shakes his head. “Everything was black and burnt. The house is a skeleton of what it was. There’s nothing left of the barn and outbuildings except their foundations”.

“And Asta?” Jorunn pleads and I have to physically look away. I can’t bring myself to see my father’s face.

I hear Elof answer. “We didn’t find her body in the ashes, if that’s what you mean”.

Jorunn starts to cry and my heart goes out to her. Of my sisters, she was closest to our grandmother. It was Asta who made sure Jorunn survived after our mother died in childbirth.

A whinny draws my attention. I look to the horses and recognize the tall, gray stallion Erlendur is leading. “Borg!” I rush over to stroke his neck. “How did he survive? I assumed all the animals were taken or killed”.

Erlendur, too, pats the horse who is pleased with all the attention. “We found him on the way back, actually. We think he must have gotten away and run into the woods. I guess he’s been running wild this whole time”.

“I’m glad to know something from the farm survived” I say.

“Something did” Erlendur points out. “You and Jorunn did”.

I don’t know how to respond to this, so I turn away and concentrate on petting Borg.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

The time for battle is drawing closer and each passing day leaves me more afraid.

Erlendur is training the men in the shield wall. The tactic is simple enough, and most of the men who’ve gone on raids know how to form one already. But many of the men are not accustomed to a battle of two shields walls against each other.

Freydis is the only woman to join in. I wish, for once, that I too were a shieldmaiden; then I could fight alongside my family and get revenge against Hakon.

I confess this to her one afternoon as everyone takes a break from practice. A few women and I have brought fresh bread and ale to keep the warriors fortified. Freydis shakes her head at my confession. “I think we can both agree you’re not a shieldmaiden. And I don’t mean that to sound insulting, but you’re so…nice. I can’t see you attacking or killing anyone unless it was in defense”.

I am forced to agree. “You’re right about that. I don’t have the stomach or the heart to be a warrior”.

“You have more heart than most people I know. In any case, even if you were a shieldmaiden, you couldn’t fight in this battle”. She points to my arm. “You’re not fully healed”.

I nod, grateful for both her kind words and her logic. I say my next words carefully. “Do you ever…do you ever feel like other women, ordinary women like Halla or myself, aren’t as good as shieldmaidens?”

Freydis nearly chokes on her ale. She manages to swallow and gawks at me. “Why in the name of the god’s would I ever think that? If anything, I am grateful to “ordinary” women like you. You all manage our lives back here. You give the warriors and the raiders something to come home to”.

Freydis reaches over to place a hand on my arm. “Brynja, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in these past few months, it’s that being able to swing a sword doesn’t necessarily make you strong. Physically, maybe, but it certainly didn’t give me the strength to get through my first raid without feeling like a coward. The hope, the ambition I had to achieve my dream, that’s what gave me the strength to keep going. And you’re one of the strongest people I know; look at what you’ve survived these past weeks!”

I smile. “Freydis, I had no idea you were so wise. Being a shieldmaiden has been so good for you. And thank you”.

But even after my conversation with Freydis, I still find myself worrying over those who will be risking their lives in battle. That night, I dream I am wandering through a field. The ground is muddy; the grass is stained dark from so much blood. Mist hovers over everything and I hear the cawing of ravens above me.

“Father! Elof! Erlendur! Freydis!” I shout the names of my family and friends until my voice is hoarse. I step forward into the mist and stumble over something in my path. I look to see what caused me to fall.

Erlendur is lifeless on the ground with a bloody wound in his chest. As I look around, the mists clears and I see the other bodies…

I want to scream, but my voice is gone. I look up to see a dark figure hovering above me. Hakon’s face appears out of the shadows, that terrible wolf grin on his face. He reaches his hands, covered in my loved ones’ blood, to grab me. I struggle against his grasp and he begins to laugh.

I wake shaking and breathless, with tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Brynja?” Jorunn murmurs from her spot next to me.

I curl into a tight ball on my side and pull the covers to my chin. “I’m fine” I whisper. “Go back to sleep”.

“No you’re not” Jorunn whispers back. She sits up, her auburn hair disheveled around her pretty face. “I see you every day and you look like you came out of Hel”.

“Sometimes I think I did, after everything that’s happened”.

“But it’ll be okay. I mean, we’re all together, right?” I can hear the pain in her voice and expect her to cry again. I roll over and reach out to grasp her hand.

“Right” I whisper. We snuggle down into the furs next to each other and stay like that until dawn.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The day I’ve been dreading finally arrives. To match my anxious mood, the sky is overcast with dark clouds that threaten rain, and a cold wind reminds us that winter is coming.

Our party is larger than I expected. There are around thirty warriors from the village and surrounding farms, ranging from a few years younger than I to older than my father. A few others accompany their families, driving carts filled with supplies, and wagons to transport the dead and wounded back. Halla and Freydis’ father Ebran, and his brother Ukkr, come with a wagon filled with blacksmith’s tools. Gorm is among the warriors. My sisters and I join a few other women to tend wounds and manage the camp.

Erlendur is at the front of the group, riding Borg. Elof, Grimar, and a few others are with him. I remain towards the back, walking along side the carts with my sisters.

We make good time traveling and stop at a clearing along the stream to set up camp. We are further downstream from where Jorunn and I first found Erlendur.

For the rest of the day, I am so busy with helping to set up the camp, cook an evening meal, and prepare herbs and salves for tomorrow that I forget all my fears about the battle. One would think I was going to join the shield-wall, with how much I’ve fretted over it.

After the evening meal, I sit around our fire, making sure the leather armor is clean for tomorrow. Freydis sits with me, sharpening her sword. As the daughter, niece, and sister of blacksmiths, how to care for a weapon was one thing about being a warrior Erlendur hadn’t needed to teach her.

“ Do you suppose Hakon will have any shieldmaidens in his troops?” she asks me casually.

I had not considered that before. I try to recall if I saw any women at his farm aside from his mother and concubine that were not slaves. “I doubt it” I reply, “considering my experience with how he treats women”. I have not told anyone outside of family about the events between Hakon and myself in the woods. I do not want to keep reliving that memory.

Freydis examines her blade. “Oh, well it would be nice to one day meet another shieldmaiden”. She sheathes her sword and stands up. “It’s getting late. We’ll all need to be up early”.

I know she is right, but I am afraid to sleep. I fear I will have that nightmare again; that tomorrow, it will come true. Some says dreams are prophetic of the future.

“Sleep well” I say to Freydis. I go to curl up in my own space and try to sleep. I lay awake for a long time, listening to the sounds of the camp around me. What rest I do get is fitful.

I awaken just as the sun is appearing through the trees. I force myself to help tend the fires and prepare a good meal. For some of these people, it may be their last.

The sun has risen to light the whole sky by the time our troops are gathered together, armored, and ready. Someone shouts the arrival of our enemies. I can hear the noise of horses, armor, and marching feet as Hakon leads his men towards us.

Jorunn and I climb up onto a rocky cliff, where we can see the wide clearing and the stream that runs along it. We are out of the way of the battle, but can see, and are still close enough to get to the camp once we’re needed.

I am uncertain whether I should watch. Aside from the attacks on our farm, I’ve never seen much fighting before, and never a real battle like this.

“Shield-wall!” The command is shouted on both sides. I watch our warriors line up and feel a sense of pride in hope well they perform this. My father told me a Viking does not need to be a part of a disciplined army, because one’s loyalty to their comrades and their own reputation are enough to keep them in the shield-wall.

I look to survey Hakon’s troops. They seem to be almost twice our number, all with more armor, and matching green and red shields. I look back to our troops, of young and old men (and one young woman), with shields of different colors, and some with even no armor. The pride I felt a moment ago falters. I try to remind myself that it is a warrior’s reason for fighting that is what gives them strength.

Hakon steps forward from the shield wall. He is bare-chested, wearing only leather trousers and boots. Gold arm-rings flash at his wrists. His hair flows down his bare shoulders, and the same tattoos that cover his face run down his arms and chest. I cannot quite make out his face, but I suspect him to be wearing that wolf-sneer.

“Arnor!” he calls. “Will you not reconsider my offer? Are you really willing to sacrifice your life and those of your friends for this?”

“I’d give up my life a hundred times over before I ever let you have my daughters! And today I will get revenge for what you’ve done to my family!”

Hakon does not reply, but steps back into his troops. With a unified shout, they all raise their shields. Our warriors do the same.

I feel Jorunn’s hand slip into mine. I squeeze and send a prayer to all the gods to protect our men and grant us a victory. I am terrified of the alternative.

I am amazed and horrified at the sight of the shield-walls rushing forward into one another. Both walls hold and those into front hack furiously at one another. Every time someone falls, another steps forward to take his place.

For a moment, all I can see if a blur of color and sunlight flashing off armor and weapons, and dust stirred up by the chaos. Then, the walls begin to break.

As a child, I heard stories told of great battles with brave heroes. But there is nothing great or heroic about this.

The two shield-walls have begun to break and the fighting is more scattered. I strain my eyes for a glimpse of a face I recognize. I spot Gorm along the stream, fighting off two of Hakon’s men. He slips in the mud, and falls to one knee, raising his shield to ward off a blow. A blond figure leaps forward and beheads one of his opponents with a swing of their sword. Gorm regains his footing and takes out the other of Hakon’s men with his axe. The blond figure leaps back into the main battle-frenzy. I think it may have been Freydis saving her brother, but I cannot be sure.

Everything is happening so quickly. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be in the thick of the fighting. I cannot comprehend this is the life Freydis dreams of.

Jorunn grabs at my arm and points with her other hand. I see our father fighting in the midst with Hakon and some of his men. They trade blows between their swords and shields. Hakon is too fast for my father to hit, but my father is strong enough to deflect his blows. They are sliding about in the mud. Hakon takes advantage of the uneven footing to slice our father’s thigh. He staggers under his wound. One of us—whether Jorunn or myself, I don’t even know—screams.

Erlendur, his blue and black shield raised before him, leaps at Hakon with an unnatural speed and stops him from delivering a killing blow. I try to watch their fight, but they are swallowed into the crowd of clashing metal and corpses.

The stream is turning red. So many of the dead and wounded from both sides lie along the banks. I don’t know how long the battle rages on; I cannot tear my eyes away to check the sun. Finally, I hear horns being blown, and I see men with green and red shields retreating upstream.

I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Hakon’s forces are retreating! Does this mean we’ve won?

Jorunn and I hurry our way back down the cliff and make it into the camp as the warriors are returning. They all look so much worse up close. It seems no one was spared from being covered in blood. Some men limp, others have to be carried. I see an older man feebly pressing against a stomach wound. I fear he will not last the rest of the day.

We join our sister in tending the wounded. Jorunn brews a broth of onion and leeks and hands it out to those with wounds around their stomach and abdomen. After one has drunk the broth, the healer can then determine by the scent if any bowels have been pierced. If they have, there is nothing we can do except make the wounded person comfortable.

The thigh wound our father received from Hakon is not as bad as I feared; it will be painful, but he will still be able to walk, though he may limp for the next few days.

Erlendur is in better shape; the worst wound he has is a slash on his left arm. It bleeds so much I am forced to cauterize it with a hot knife. Erlendur cringes when he sees the red-hot metal, but grits his teeth and lets me tend to him. He hisses when the metal touches him, but refrains from screaming.

Freydis is not as fortunate; she has a bad cut on her side that needs to be cauterized. I am not the one to do it, but I can hear her squealing in pain across the camp.

A scream even louder than Freydis’ cuts through the air. I turn, expecting to see another wounded patient undergoing to the hot knife. What I see is even worse.

Gudrun has flung herself over Elof’s still body and is openly weeping. My heart drops into my stomach like a stone as I watch my sister mourn over her husband.

I look around at the chaos around me; this chaos I caused. There is blood on my hands and down my dress. I tended wounds, but I caused them as well. Hakon came because of me.

I cannot stay out here with this guilt weighting against my heart. I turn and make my way into the woods, away from the camp. I want to be away where I don’t have to see this horror.

When I am far enough I can no longer see the camp or quite hear the cries of the wounded and grieving, I drop to my knees and curl up on a bed of pine needles. Tears are brimming in my eyes; my vision is blurry from them.

“I thought you were helping tend the wounded?” Erlendur’s voice is behind me.

I look over my shoulder and see him standing there, still covered in battle-gore.

“I was…I needed to get away for a moment”. I turn away so my back is to him.

I hear Erlendur moving forward. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him crouch down next to me.

“This wasn’t your fault”.

Tears begin to form in my eyes again. “It feels like it” I whisper. I swallow against the lump forming in my throat. “If I had just accepted Hakon’s proposal at the start, none of this would have happened. Jorunn wouldn’t have run away, the attack on the farm wouldn’t have happened, Asta and Elof would still be alive—“.

I cannot hold the tears back anymore. I give in and let them come flooding out of my eyes. Sobs rack at my chest. I pull my knees up to my chin and bury my face against them, letting the grief and guilt shake me.

Erlendur remains silent while I weep. The torrent of tears passes and I manage to take a few deep breaths.

Erlendur says softly, “You have no idea what may have happened”.

I force myself to look up at him. I imagine I must look terrible and pathetic, with tear stains on flushed cheeks, and other people’s blood drying on my hands and clothes.

Erlendur continues, in a soft tone one would use with an upset child, “There have been many times in my life where I wished things might have gone differently. My father always said our lives are in the hands of the gods. We have no control over the fate they choose to give us”.

We are both quiet as his words sink in.

“You never struck me as someone who believed in fate,” I say, more to fill the silence than anything. My voice sounds strained after my sobbing.

Erlendur looks away from me. “I’m not sure what I believe in anymore”.

I sniff and swipe at the tears hovering in my eyes. “Do you think,” I take a breath before I speak the next words “if I go to Hakon now, tell him I’ve changed my mind, do you think things will be better?”

“ _No!_ ” Erlendur snarls the word so fiercely that I lean away from him. He reaches out and grabs my hand, startling me. His eyes are burning, but not, it seems, with anger. The look he gives me is almost pleading.

“It’s—it’s too late for that,” Erlendur says. “If you give in now— everything—all the lives we’ve lost will have been for nothing! Do you want Elof’s death to be pointless? Or Asta’s?”

I shake my head. “No” I can only speak in a small voice.

Erlendur is still holding my hand, I realize, when he gives it a squeeze. I can feel the strength in his hands, these hands that have held sword blades and killed so many. Yet I find his touch comforting now. I squeeze back.

Blue eyes lock on mine. “We have to fight back”.

His words strengthen me. Impulsively, before I can talk myself out of it, I lean forward and kiss his lips.

He pulls me forward, his hands moving to wrap around my waist. I put my arms around his neck and let his mouth overpower mine. He responds to the kiss with such hunger.

This kiss last longer than our first. With his lips against mine, so soft and warm, I feel a passion I didn’t realize I was capable of. In the moment we are together, all the pain and grief and fear I’ve felt these past days evaporates. There is a strange ache in my body as we finally pull apart.

We stare at one another, our arms still wrapped around the other’s body. There is a look in Erlendur’s eyes I can’t read; a feeling seems to pass between us that I don’t understand.

“Do you feel it?” I ask.

“Feel what?” Erlendur looks puzzled now.

There is a sting in my heart. Perhaps I was the only one; perhaps the feeling wasn’t even real.

“Nothing. Never mind”. Reluctantly, I retract my body from his. “We should return to the camp”.

I hurry away, my cheeks burning, before he can respond.

The sun has moved long past noon. The wounded and dead are being loaded into wagons. The wounded will receive more care at their homes. The dead will be prepared for the funeral fires tonight. I wonder if Elof’s body is among them.

“Riders approaching!” someone shouts. There is a mad scramble to gather up weapons. I hold my breath. Is Hakon launching a surprise attack?

It is Hakon, but he is only accompanied by half a dozen men. I get to where I can see, but don’t dare move to the front of the gathering crowd.

“Both of our sides have suffered grave losses” Hakon is saying. “But I am afraid this animosity will never end between us”. I realize he is speaking to my father. “I am willing to compromise with you, but I will not change my mind about having one of your daughters”.

I cannot believe Hakon is refusing to give up. Near me, I hear Erlendur muttering, “I’d admire your determination if you weren’t such an ass”.

Hakon is saying something else to my father I cannot hear. I realize Erlendur is no longer beside me and is pushing through the crowd.

“Hakon!” Erlendur stands proudly, his hand against his sword hilt. “If you want to end this, let us end it! Fight me. Let the gods decide how this should end”.

Fear knots itself in my stomach. Erlendur has proved time and again that he is a good fighter, but I know this will be a fight to the death.

Hakon steps forward until he is only inches from Erlendur. Hakon is taller than him, but Erlendur doesn’t appear cowered. “I accept your challenge. I’ll slit you open from neck to navel and leave your corpse for the birds.” As if on cue, ravens settled among the trees fill the air with noise.

Hakon goes to his men to ready himself. My father limps to Erlendur and I push my way towards him as well. I hear my father saying “This is between Hakon and my family. I will fight him”.

“You’re wounded” Erlendur replies. “You took me in—your daughters, your mother, you—you gave me a home. You are my family now. So let me fight for you”.

I am touched by these words; that he would readily risk his life for us, but my father is unconvinced and tries to make him reconsider.

Erlendur shakes his head, and from the hard look in his eyes, I know he will not back down. “I lost my family; they’re all dead. I couldn’t protect my own family; let me do this for yours”.

“And if you get killed?” my father asks.

Erlendur is silent for a moment. “I used to be just like Hakon, thinking the world owed me anything just because I wanted it”. I wonder if this what Erlendur meant when he said he was “realizing how terrible he’d been”?

Still, I have a hard time believing he was ever as bad as Hakon, and I tell him so. Erlendur turns to me. “If you saw me even a year ago, you would not have recognized me. If you met me then, you would have hated me”.

He takes a breath. “But I’ve realized things worth having are worth fighting for. I want to prove myself as good man”.

And I want to kiss him again. “I already know you’re a good man”.

“I know you think that. But I need to prove it to myself”.

Our people and Hakon’s men form a circle, with ERlendur and Hakon facing each other in the center. Hakon still wears no armor; Erlendur is still wearing the leather vest he wore to battle this morning.

The circle one another, naked swords blades at their sides. It seems an eternity where they just circle and feint, trying to draw the other into attacking. Finally, Hakon runs out of patient and lunges at Erlendur, swinging madly. Erlendur barely blocks the blows.

I bite at my lip. Hakon is taller than Erlendur, and he may be physically stronger, too. But I remind myself Erlendur is much stronger than he looks, and he had speed and agility on his side. He is also a trained and experienced warrior.

Erlendur’s shield takes another blow from Hakon’s sword. Erlendur tries to thrust his blade behind the shield to strike his opponent; Hakon is too quick and the blade reflects off his shield. They continue to circle and exchange sword thrusts. It seems, in spite of their different size and experience, they are evenly matched.

Erlendur seems to realize this, too. Hakon brings his sword down in a blow so hard it breaks Erlendur’s shield. He staggers back, tossing the broken pieces aside. A gasp goes up from the crowd.

Erlendur does not even hesitate. He swiftly pulls a saxe knife he had hanging from his belt into his left hand. He is back upon Hakon before the other man can register what he’s done. I am amazed at how fiercely Erlendur is fighting, even without a shield to protect him.

Hakon tries to strike Erlendur, but he is too fast and dances out of the way. “Flithy farmhand!” Hakon shouts. “You wanted this battle; why don’t you face me like a man?” Hakon is trying to rile Erlendur up with insults, but to everyone’s surprise, Erlendur only laughs.

“I am not a farmhand!” He brings both arms up swiftly as Hakon tries to bring his sword down. With the sword and saxe knife crossing each other Erlendur blocks the blow.

The two man stand in a struggle, their blades locked together. Erlendur’s voice rings with pride. “My name is Erlendur Horkisson, and my father was a king”. He pulls the saxe knife from under where it supported the sword, and drives it into Hakon’s chest. “And you are a dead man”.

Both sides are silent as Erlendur rips his blade out of his opponent. Hakon sinks to his feet, feebly pressing against the gaping wound. It seems to take forever for him to fall into the dirt and gasp that last breath.

Erlendur looks back and forth between our side and Hakon’s. His face gleams with sweat from his effort, yet there is no triumph, no crowing of victory. He sneers down at the body and walks back to us.

I fight against the urge to run to him, to ask if he is alright. My heart pounds against chest; I am certain it may burst. I feel a great surge of affection and gratitude towards Erlendur and realize I am smiling. He is alive, he is victorious, and we are finally free of Hakon.


	13. Home Now

The next day, after the wounded have all been tended to, and we are settled back in the village, Erlendur, my father, and a group of men from the village ride off to Hakon’s land. With him dead, it is within their rights to claim it. I have heard of duels where one man is killed, and the victor takes all his property. By that then, Hakon’s property should be Erlendur’s, though there seems to be an agreement between him and my father that they will split it between themselves.

“It’s a bit funny, isn’t it?” Jorunn laughs with me as we watch the men leave. “Hakon spent so much time trying to get our land. And in the end, we have his”.

I grin. “It seems fitting. Perhaps it was because of Asta’s curse”.

Jorunn finally smiles at the mention of our grandmother’s name. “And a certain warrior”.

It is a relief to know we will once again have a home of our own. As grateful as I am to my sister and the villagers, we cannot stay cramped in her house forever. With Elof gone, I am not even sure she and the children can stay in this house. It will hold too many memories.

The men return just as the sun is setting. I am in the yard, finishing baking bread over the outdoor fire to go with dinner. I recognize the black stallion Erlendur is leading from Borg’s back.

“Surt!” I cry. The stallion pricks his ears at my voice. I move forward to stroke his powerful neck.

“We found him in the barn” Erlendur tells me. “It seems Hakon cared more for horses than he did for women. He’s been looked after”.

I stroke Surt’s black hair, which has grown shaggy with the approaching winter. I notice Erlendur’s face is grim.

“What happened?” I sense something is wrong. .

“His family—mother and sons—are dead” Erlendur mutters. “We found them in one of the back rooms, when we went to claim the hall. We think they took poison”.

I feel a twist in my stomach. I cannot feel very upset over the death of a woman I met once—one who called me “a rude girl”—but I do feel a slight sense of guilt over the death of two innocent young boys. One was just a baby.

“She must have forced them to drink it” I say.

Erlendr nods. “They would have been made into slaves…or killed, anyway. It…” he swallows hard, “it is usually the way the old family is disposed of by the new”.

“I remember when we went to fetch Jorunn, there was another woman. Do you know what happened to her?”

“Asgerd. She was Hakon’s concubine, the mother of those two boys. We found her crying over the bodies”. He must see the distraught look on my face, because he quickly adds, “She’s still alive. She’s nowhere to go”.

“She can stay as a servant, then” I say, though I know I have no right to this. It is normally the right of the woman of the household to decide on the servants and slaves. I don’t know which of us sisters gets that right.

Under normal circumstances, my father should have remarried when my mother died, if only to provide a mother for his daughters and to have someone to manage the household. But he never did and relied on his mother, and later his daughters, to do that work.

I wonder what will happen to Gudrun, now that she is widowed. I’ve no doubt she will be able to stay with us; there is more than enough room. But she is still young, and I’m certain she will be pushed to marry again, once she’s had time to grieve.

A few days later, my whole family moves into Hakon’s hall. The tenant farmers seem cowered as Erlendur rides past them; word has spread, thanks to Grimar’s promise of a poem, that Erlendur is the one who killed Hakon. I look among these faces and wonder if anyone would try to avenge Hakon. Many of the faces look nervous or awed, but no one seems angry.

Hakon’s old hall, which is now our new home, is twice as long as my father’s longhouse. The walls are sturdy, made of daub mixed with clay, gravel, and straw. The thatched roof is neatly combed and looks like gold in the sun.

Erlendur has put a mark on the hall, that it is no longer Hakon’s. He spends a few days carving into the wood. Around the door are carvings of snarling wolves and galloping horses. A spread-winged eagle is carved at the top, and a horned skull is secured above the doorframe.

When I was last here, I remember a hall dimly lit with smoking torches, and filled with the scent of smoke, human bodies, and roasting meat. It had been too dark for me to get many bearings, but now I can get a good view of the space.

Today the door and the shutters are all thrown open to let in sunlight and fresh summer air. The wooden floor has been cleaned and the space inside is less smoky and dark than before. The oak rafters have been cleaned of their smoke stains, and intricately carved with new runes.

The large hearth still stands in the center. With all the warmth and light coming in from the sun, it does not need to be lit. The benches along the walls are still covered in furs and the two sturdy oak tables and benches are lined in their original spots.

But it is now new shields, painted in a blue diagonal design, that hang on the wall. In the corners, shelves line the walls, with baskets and small chests filled with his belongings arranged on them.

A leather curtain divides a part of the hall. This is an area I did not see before. Beyond it is a private family area, with several bedroom spaces around it. There is more than enough room for everyone.

Back in the main hall, doors lead to storerooms and the latrine. There is another door, I am surprised to find, that leads down an earthen corridor. When I emerge out of it, I am in a partially enclosed space. A circular stone pool is in the center. It is a private bathhouse.

Delighted with this discovery, I return to the main hall again, where I inspect the adjacent fire hall. It is a specialized area for cooking with its own hearth and access to the storerooms.

Erlendur watches me as I inspect the house. “What do you think?” he asks, pointing to his carvings.

“It is beautiful. You should be proud”. I turn to him and see he is grinning, obviously pleased with himself.

“I am glad you like it.” He pauses. “This—Norway—is my home now”.

I start to question what he means, when he continues.

“I can never go back to Denmark”.

I ask the question I wondered when we first met. “Are you an outlaw?”

“By my choice. They probably all think I’m dead by now”. He lets out a bitter laugh. “Or they may not even care I’m gone”.

I don’t know who “they” are, but from the tone of Erlendur’s voice, it is obvious he doesn’t like them. I am dying to press him about his past, but something tells me he will only pull away if I do.

I speak cautiously, not wanting to upset him. “At your duel…you said your father was a king”.

Erlendur stares at the wall, a faraway look on his face. “He is…was”.

“There are many kings around here. Is one of them—“ Erlendur interrupts me with a sharp laugh.

“Those petty kings? They’re glorified jarls. No, my father was a real king. He was King Horik Godfridson of Denmark. And my mother was the famous shieldmaiden, Gunhild of Gotaland”.

I do not recognize these names, but the pride in Erlendur’s voice proves they were important, at least to him.

I move to sit on one of the benches. It seems so strange for Erlendur to claim he is the son of a king, and yet…I believe him. When he arrived, he wore well-made clothes and carried a fine sword. He possesses a great knowledge of battle and raiding, but knew little of farm work. I had assumed he’d come from a higher class, but I had not expected a king’s son.

I finally ask what I’ve been wondering since he first arrived. “How did you end up here?”

Erlendur sits next to me. “I don’t really want to talk about my past; it’s not a good tale. And it’s long story…” he trails off. I can tell he is uncomfortable. I don’t know how to get him to open up with seeming intruding.

Erlendur takes a deep breath and forces words out. “I was caught in a storm. I don’t remember much of it. The ship…it was being ripped apart by the waves. A wave came up and dragged me overboard. I can’t remember what happened after that. The next thing I know I’m waking up on a beach”.

“I had no idea where I was. I traveled along the coast, hoping to find some of the crew or the ship. Whenever I reached a settlement, I asked around to see if any of the crew had made it. No one had heard from them. I never did find out what happened; if they survived or not”.

“I can’t explain why, I just felt the need to travel west. Perhaps it was the gods, wanting me to come here”.

Erlendur continued. “I was caught in another storm and became ill. I followed the river, hoping to find someplace where I could get help. I was so sick I felt I could barely walk. I guess at some point I collapsed and that’s when you found me. The next thing I remember is waking up at your home”.

“You’ve had quite an adventure,” I remark. “But, what were you doing on the ship? Did you mean to come to Norway?”

Erlendur shifts in discomfort. I don’t mean to aggravate him, but sometimes his answers only raise more questions.

“I want to tell you” he says. “I do. And I trust you…I just—“.

“Don’t want to talk about it” I finish for him. He nods.

I speak gently. “Someday, I hope you can tell me about yourself”.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Later that day, I sit by the fire and contemplate what all I know about Erlendur. He claims he is the son of a king and a shieldmaiden. He is an excellent warrior and has a lot of knowledge about weaponry, battle tactics, and raiding. He says he ended up in Norway after a shipwreck.

But there are still so many questions.

If his father was a king, what happened to his kingdom? Why is Erlendur not there? Why did he come to Norway? What happened that he can never go back to Denmark? Who were the people he said thought he was dead, or wouldn’t notice he was gone?

I shake my head as if that will clear all the questions running through my mind. Every answer I get from him, I hope will make things clearer, but it only seems to bring more confusion.

Just before the duel, Erlendur said he’d lost all his family, that he “hadn’t been able to protect them”. So, were they all dead and Erlendur blames himself for it? Is that why he came here and can’t go back; because he needs to get away from those bad memories?

My thoughts are interrupted as Gudrun comes to sit with me. She and the children have accompanied us to our new home. I don’t mind if they want to stay with us.

“How are you doing?” I ask gently. Gudrun looks pale and exhausted. I have not seen her cry since she first discovered Elof was dead.

Gudrun brushes a strand of hair from her face. “My husband, the father of my children, is dead. I want to mourn for him…but my grief is so deep I can’t even shed a tear”.

I lean forward and place my hand on hers, as if this small gesture might make her better. She brushes me away.

“And Trygve, I can’t talk to him at all. He is so angry over his father; he’s too young for this sort of pain. And Kari doesn’t even understand”.

My heart breaks to see my sister look this broken. A few of the tears she can’t cry slip from my own eyes. I suddenly fear rather guilty for spending my time wondering over Erlendur and not noticing my sister’s pain.

“You’re all in a lot of pain right now. You helped us when we needed it. Now, we’ll help you. Everything will be okay.”

I speak these words to comfort my sister, though I have no idea if they are true or not. But the gods have already determined our fates. We can only have faith things will turn out alright in the end.


	14. Truths Come to Light

A few weeks pass as we settle into our new home. This hall is much larger and more luxurious than our old longhouse ever was. I thought I would not care for such a fine place, but I can’t deny I’m comfortable here. I especially love the privacy of the divided sleeping quarters and an actual bed, rather than a bench built into the wall that serves as a bedplace.

Hakon’s farm is even larger as well. It boasts over one hundred sheep and goats and thirty head of cattle. This is more than double the amount of our former herds. As I go about my morning chores or walk along the lake in the afternoon, watching the early winter sun set, I have to remind myself this is ours now.

Erlendur finds me one afternoon as I am by the lake. With the mountains framing the horizon, and the sunlight glinting off the water, I feel I could stare at it forever.

“I’ve been searching for you”.

I turn to see Erlendur standing a few yards away. “Well, you’ve found me”.

He steps forward and swallows. I can tell he is nervous about something.

“I’ve been thinking a great deal about what you said. About… telling you about myself. But before I can tell you anything, I have a question for you”.

He takes another step forward and looks me in the eyes. I turn to look directly at him and wait.

“What are your feelings for me?”

The question surprises me. I don’t know how to answer.

“I—“ I hesitate, trying to form words that make sense. “I am grateful to you for everything you’ve done for me, for my family. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you”.

“Grateful” he repeats, and I sense I’ve said the wrong thing.

“Oh, you mean…you mean the kiss. All of that, don’t you?”

The look on his face is a clear affirmative. “Do you have feelings for me?”

In my heart, I know I do. I can’t bring myself to speak, but I look in his eyes and nod. I hope the look on my face is enough for him to understand.

“Get rid of them. I’m not the kind of man you want to fall in love with”.

These words strike me like a slap to the face. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve done…things. Terrible things. I’m not a good person”.

“But you’ve done so many good things for us! Why are you so convinced you’re terrible? And why should I have to give up my feelings for you? If I recall correctly, you were the one who said you cared about me! Remember, at Halla’s wedding? Right before you kissed me! Did that not mean anything? Was it just the ale?”

I feel so angry and stunned. My chest is tight; my cheeks burn from more than the cold wind. How could Erlendur tell me to not feel something he started?

Erlendur stares at me steadily during my outburst. When he speaks again, his voice is too even. “Before I came here, I had a wife. I did not treat her well. If I were with you…I couldn’t live with myself if I treated you the same”.

An uncomfortable silence falls between us. A wife! He is older than I am, five or six years I guess. It makes sense he would have been married. I am still simmering with anger and shock and make to leave. Erlendur stares after me with a mournful expression that clenches at my heart. He has done so much for us; the least I can do is hear his story out. I turn back to him.

“What happened to her? Did you lose her, too?”

“Yes”. Erlendur turns his gaze to the ground. “She left me for another man”.

There is a knot in my stomach and I suddenly feel guilty over shouting at him. “What happened?”

“I never loved her. I couldn’t even respect her. She was so…timid. Like a frightened mouse.”

“If you didn’t love her, why did you marry her?”

Erlendur sighs heavily. “It’s a long story. I should start at the beginning, but..”

“Erlendur” I speak as firmly as I can. “I have known you for eight months now. I don’t need your entire life story, but please!—tell me the truth”.

He moves to sit on the ground and gestures for me to do the same. “It’s a long story”.

“So you keep saying”.

He is silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then he starts to speak. “My father was King Horik of Denmark. Years ago, he formed an agreement with a man named Ragnar Lothbrok, who was an earl at the time”. He spits the man’s name out in disgust.

“They had agree to launch a raid west. The raids…were eventually successful. But my father was afraid Ragnar was gaining too much power. Kings…they don’t like feeling their earls are more famous than them. My father decided to take out Ragnar and his family before they became a threat to his power”.

I want to ask questions, but bite my tongue. I will let Erlendur go through his whole story.

“My father launched an attack on Ragnar’s village. To attack your host is dishonorable, but I was younger than you are now, and I could never go against my father and king. I helped lead that attack”.

“We failed. Some people my father had thought would betray Ragnar actually told him about the attack, so they were able to counter it. I had to watch—with a knife at my throat—while Ragnar Lothbrok murdered my father”.

Erlendur looks away from me for a moment. I want to say something, but fear he will close up if I do.

He regains his composure and continues. “Rgnar Lothrok even had my mother and younger siblings all killed. My littlest brother; he was four years old”.

Tears prick at my eyes. I had felt something bad may have happened in his past, but I have not expected anything this terrible.

“I was only survived because my father begged. His last words were “spare my son”.

“What happened to you” I say slowly, “was terrible. And I’m sorry. But how does any of this make you a bad person?”

His smile in the afternoon light is grim. “I haven’t finished”.

“Prior to all of this, Ragnar Lothbrok had killed a man named Jarl Borg. He had him blood-eagled”.

I feel a shiver down my spine. “I thought that was just a legend. Something to scare people”.

Erlendur shakes his head. “I was there when it happened. I watched it. Jarl Borg had a young widow. She’d been carrying a child at the time. I sought her out and convinced her to marry me. I had thought, she would want revenge against Ragnar too, and that we could work together. I was mistaken”.

“About a year after, we returned to Ragnar’s village—Kattegat—together, with some people I hoped would be allies. I wanted—needed—to get revenge for what happened to my family”.

His lip curls up in disgust. “While we were there, my wife had an affair with Ragnar Lothbrok’s eldest son”.

“Wait!” I hold up a hand to stop him. “Your wife’s first husband was killed by this Ragnar Lothbrok. And then she had sex with his son. With the son of her husband’s killer?!” I cannot imagine anything more twisted and disgusting. “Please tell me it was all part of a plan for revenge”.

“No. It was only revenge against me. I didn’t care for her, and she never loved me either. Our marriage was purely out of convenience—thought it was never convenient”.

“So, she had sex with the son of her husband’s killer because you didn’t care for her?”  

I can tell form the hunch of his shoulders and the sneer on his face how angry and disgusted he is by this, even years later. I can only imagine how he reacted when he first found out. I cautiously say this to him.

He nods. “We were on a raid in Paris. I saw him giving her jewelry and I knew what they’d done. I took it from her and called her a whore”.

“Erlendur!” I don’t know how to feel about this. It is such a foul word, though I can’t think highly of any person who would cheat on their spouse.

“And after the raids were over…I hired a man to kill her lover, though that failed. And then the bastard showed up and announced he was taking my wife. She couldn’t wait to get away from me”.

I lay my hand on his arm. “Erlendur—“I start.

He jerks away. Recalling all these terrible memories seems to have taken a toll on him. He sneers at me much like he did when we first met. There is a terrible harshness in his voice. “I’m not the kind of man a girl like you should fall in love him”.

The confessions of his past as well as this harsh rejection pain me. I stand up and return the best sneer I can muster. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Then, I turn and walk back to the hall.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

When I wake the next morning, I find it much colder than it was a few days ago. Summer has flown by and we are entering the beginning of winter. There is a fury around the farm to prep the fields and bring the herds from the summer pastures before the first snows arrive.

I am now the one avoiding Erlendur. I know it is childish of me, but I need time to process everything he’s told me. I still feel angry that he kissed me, gave me the necklace, did everything that might have made me love him….and then said I shouldn’t. Erlendur did terrible things in his past, he admitted them to me, but then he did such good things for us. Who is the real Erlendur?

I make free time one afternoon. It’s a cold day, the sky blanketed in gray. I have a new winter cloak, in a beautiful shade of dark red, lined with fur on the hood. Since we’ve occupied the new hall, we’ve gotten some new clothing as well. I try to keep the clothes practical and modest as we are still farmers, but the material is of better quality.

Now, I wrap my cloak tightly around me as I head to the village. I need to speak with someone. Normally, I would express my feelings to Gudrun, but I know she needs time to deal with her own emotions. I don’t want her to worry over me as well.

Traveling into the village takes longer than before, so I glad I’ve gone on horseback. My mare snorts and prances in response to the cold. We make good time to the village, in spite of the new distance.

I ride straight to Halla’s house. One servant takes my mare to the stables; another escorts me inside. I find Halla weaving by the loom. Her face brightens when she sees me.

“Brynja! Oh, I’m so glad to see you. I feel like it’s been weeks”.

I laugh and remove my cloak. “It has been weeks. I don’t think we’ve seen each other since…” I start to say “the battle”, but stop myself. Halla understands what I mean.

“Why don’t you sit and warm yourself up?” She gestures to the brightly lit hearth. “I’ll get us something to drink”.

A few moments later, we are seated by the fire, with cups of fresh ale. Halla’s home is lovely, almost as large and easily as luxurious as the new hall (though we’ve lived there several weeks now, I still struggle to refer to it as home).

“So what is it like living in Hakon’s hall? Vengeful?”

I laugh again, my heart feeling that than it has in a while. Halla can have a cheerful disposition that brightens anyone. I shake my head in response to her question. “No, no. But it is satisfying. And it’s beautiful”. I explain the hall to her.

“And Erlendur carved—“I stop, remembering what I came here for.

“What?” Halla is perceptive enough. “Something happened between you and Erlendur!”

“It’s nothing” I sigh. Halla tilts her head in question. She doesn’t believe me.

Before I can stop myself, I launch into a rant of how Erlendur told me to not have feelings for him. I do my best to explain it without giving away details of his past.

When I’m done, I take a breath and a long draught of ale. It feels good to get everything out.

Halla is surprisingly quiet the whole time. She waits until I’m finished to speak. “So, let me see if I understand this? You develop feelings for him. You think he’s developed feelings for you, because he said he cares about you and did things for your family. But then, he makes you admit you have feelings, only to say you shouldn’t feel that way because he thinks he’s a terrible person because of some things he did in his past. Do I have this all right?”

I nod. “It would seem so”.

Halla leans closer to me. “Brynja, I’m going to tell you a secret. Sometimes, men are idiots. And I think this is one of those times”.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. “So, what am I supposed to do? He’s so complicated. And yet…”

“You love him” Halla says.

“I…I do. I love him”. The words sound strange being spoken out loud. I repeat them to myself to let them sink in: _I love him, I love him, I love him_.

Then I groan, and place my head in my hands. “That doesn’t give me an answer to this, though”.

“I suppose not. That best thing I can tell you is to talk with him, even if you don’t want to. See how he feels about you. Maybe he’s scared”.

“Scared?”

Halla shrugs. “Maybe he’s in love with you, too. So much it scares him. He tells you not to love him, when really he’s telling himself not to love you”.

“Why would anyone be afraid of love?”

“Because you have to be honest, because you have to give youself to that person, because you have to trust them to not hurt you, I could go on. Oh, I was so excited when I developed feelings for Sindri, but I was terrified, too. Love is scary sometimes”.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

I return home the next day, having spent the night at Halla’s Her words comforted me, yet they also brought worry. Halla wanted me to do the one thing I did not want to do—talk to Erlendur.

But she was right. Love is scary. I am afraid. I am afraid Erlendur will reject me again, I am afraid he is too afraid to love or let himself be loved, I am afraid I won’t be able to put my feelings into words at all. I am just afraid.

I want to wait until tonight, but I know if I put the conversation off, it will never happen at all. I find Erlendur sitting behind the hall, sharpening his sword. I hesitate. I don’t want to have a difficult conversation while he has a weapon nearby.

I swallow against the fear and force myself to speak. “Erlendur”. He does not respond. I clear my throat and speak more loudly. “Erlendur!”

This time, he looks up. “What?” his voice his flat.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry. For getting angry with you. I was the one who wanted the truth, and I should have known it would be difficult for you. I’m sorry”. That was as far as I had rehearsed. I hope an apology first will soften him up and make this conversation easier.

“You don’t need to apologize, Brynja. But I’m going to stand by what I said”.

“About my needing to not love you?”

“Yes”.

“And what about your loving me?” This question causes him to look directly at me. He looks shocked, perhaps angry. I make myself return his gaze with as much dignity as I can muster.

“What makes you think I do?”

A funny noise escapes my throat; something between a laugh and a sob. “You did. You kiss me, you tell me you care about me, you give me jewelry, you fight for my family, kill for us. What is all that, if not love?”

“And what would you know of love? Were you ever even kissed before me?”

I flush from both embarrassment and anger. “At least I can admit love when I feel it!”

Erlendur stands up to face me. He laughs—a cruel scoff. “Only because I had to ask you! If I hadn’t you would have gone on forever with your feelings hidden away!”

“Are you talking to me or yourself?” I counter back.

Erlendur takes a step back from me. “You think I’m afraid?”

“Yes. Because you told me. You said you couldn’t live with yourself if you treated me badly, the way you treated your wife. Are you still married to her?”

“I stopped considering myself married to her the day she chose to leave me. Maybe even before that. And I’m certain she no longer considers me her husband”.

Erlendur continues. “I know you are angry with me. I know all my confessions must have frightened you. I’m not that person anymore”.

“Then why did you insist you’re so terrible? Why do you tell me I can’t love you? Is it because of the things you did? Or am I not good enough for a king’s son? I don’t care if you’re a prince or a farmer. As long as you respect me. I don’t care if a man is rich or has a title, I’d rather live in a dirt-floor hut with someone I love than a great hall with a man who doesn’t value me as I am”.

“I do value you—“

“There you go again! You say things like that and then expect me to not love you!”

“I can’t love you, not even if I want to. I can never—truly—be happy”.

I am so exasperated. “Why not?”

He swallows. “When I lost my family, I swore to myself I’d avenge them. But I haven’t been able to do that. I feel like I’m betraying them by not doing so. I can’t be happy knowing their still unavenged”.

“There were your family. Surely they would want you to be happy—even more than they would want revenge”.

Erlendur shakes his head. “You didn’t know my father. I’m sorry if I lead you on, if I made you feel for me. But I can’t give you what you want”.

“I’ve told you what I want” I am so angry at his stubbornness. My anger comes pouring out of me in a rush of words. “We live in a world that’s so harsh. Sometimes I feel like the whole world is nothing but violence and hate. I think we need love, and kindness, and compassion, more than anything. We need it if we’re going to survive. Because our lives are hard enough, but love can make it worthwhile. And you may think I’m silly and weak and naïve for believing such things; maybe I am! I don’t want to live in this world without love. If you want to spend your life alone—because you’re too afraid to admit you _can_ love—then go ahead! But don’t expect me to live that life with you!”

Tears gather in my eyes, but I can’t be bothered to brush them away. I stare at Erlendur, hoping he will say something, that he will apologize, that he might say he was wrong, and admit his feelings. But he only turns away. I run away from him.

The next morning, when I go out to start my chores, my father informs me Erlendur is gone.


	15. New Beginnings

“What do you mean he’s gone?”

“He left at first light. Spoke to me last night and said he was leaving” my father tells me.

I wring my hands together. “Did he say why?”

“He said he was grateful for giving him a home, but he felt he needed to leave. I told him that was nonsense; he belongs here now…but he wouldn’t hear it” He looks up at me. “I am sorry. I did try to convince him to stay”.

I look to the floor. “It’s my fault. We argued. I drove him away”.

My father frowns. “I thought I heard shouting yesterday. What did you argue about?”

I feel my cheeks redden. How could I possibly explain everything to my father?

My father speaks gently. “He told me. He told me who he was”

I am shocked. “He did?”

“Yes, he told me the truth, as far as I know it to be the truth. He told me about his past”.

“I thought it was just me”.

My father shakes his head. “You’re not the only one he was close to. I liked him. He and Elof…they were the closest things I ever had to sons”.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Four days pass, four days since Erlendur left. The first snow fell two days ago.

I am inside one evening, at work at my loom. I use the wood comb to nudge the threads into place. I can hear the wind howling outside.

If I were a braver woman, I might have gone after Erlendur. But he was the one who refused to admit he loved me. He was the one who broke my heart.

Tears form in the corner of my eyes. I pretend it is only dust and hastily brush them away.

Jorunn peers at me through the threads from the other side of the loom. “I know you miss him. It’s okay. I miss him, too”.

“I’m not crying over him”. I never thought I would be in this position, weeping over a boy breaking my heart.

Jorunn is persistent. “But you do miss him. We all do”. A mournful howl fills the hall as the wind rushes outside. Jorunn bites her lip and peers over her shoulder at the door. “Do you think he’s okay?”

“I’m sure he’s fine”. I focus on my work. I have been working every day from sunup to long past sundown, trying to distract myself. Even with Erlendur physically gone, he continues to hover in the corners of my mind.

In truth, I’m worried. When we first found Erlendur, he was ill and unconscious after being caught in a bad storm. This weather is even worse. He could die out there, and we would never know it.

More tears come to my eyes. I turn away from my sister and swipe at them. I knew love was frightening, but I hadn’t known it was this painful. Whenever people tell stories of great loves, they always speak of the wonderful feelings. They forget to mention the pain and emptiness when those feelings are gone.

I look over to my other sister. Gudrun is by the hearth, trying to teach Kari to spin. I feel terrible for aching over an unacknowledged love, when my sister had her heart broken after her husband was killed. Surely, her grief is much worse than mine. Yet, in the weeks since, I’ve seen her bear it with such dignity. I know she is in pain, though.

Whether Jorunn is oblivious to how much my heart hurts, I don’t know. Or perhaps she is completely aware, because she continues to prattle on about Erlendur.

“Why did he leave, anyway?”

“Because he’s an idiot. He remembered all the bad things he’d done in his past and convinced himself he’s a terrible person who’s incapable of loving or being loved”. I say this all very fast. I try to pretend I am not as angry and hurt as I am, but my voice betrays me.

“It sounds like he’s hurting, too”.

“Please, Jorunn, let’s forget about him. He’s not coming back”.

Jorunn’s blue eyes seem to darken. “If I recall correctly, when we first found him, you were the one so insistent on saving him. Now you want to forget he ever existed, as if he didn’t change our lives. It wasn’t just you, you know! Without him, there wouldn’t have been the raids! We’d probably all be dead or Hakon’s slaves!”

An uncomfortable silence settles across the hall, save for the snapping of twigs in the hearth. Gudrun looks over at us. “Are you talking about Erlendur?”

“Yes. No” Jorunn and I both speak at the same time.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s –“. I am interrupted as the door to the hall opens.

Our father comes in from where he was checking the stables. He shakes snow from off his cloak. I see someone behind him.

Erlendur.

Jorunn looks at me with a slight smirk and whispers “back”.

“Look who I found” our father claps Erlendur on the shoulder and grins as if he’s discovered a treasure hoard. I feel I’m the only person not happy to see him.

Surprisingly, Trygve is the first to leap up and run over to him. Kari is quick to follow. “Erlendur, you’re back!” I am even more surprised when Erlendur lets them hug him. I hadn’t paid much attention to his relationship with my nephew or niece. What else am I missing?

Erlendur detaches himself from the children. His eyes search the room and settle on me. I want to look anywhere but at him. I turn to go to my room.

“Brynja”. Something in his voice makes me stop. He sounds remorseful. I slowly turn around to look at him.

“I understand if you want nothing to do with me anymore. But, I came back because I realized you were right. Could at least hear me out before you walk away?”

I don’t respond, but move to sit at a bench on the side of the hall, still away from him.

Erlendur looks around the hall as he speaks. “I came back because you—all of you—are my family. I don’t want to lose that again”. He turns to look directly at me. “I came back because I love you”.

I unfold my arms where they were crossed against my chest and stand up. I had thought Erlendur’s confession of love would move me, but my heart still burns with too much anger. “I’m glad you finally came to your senses” I say. “But what you said still hurt me”.

“I know. And I am sorry. What would get you to forgive me?”

I look around to the faces of my family and even the servants, all waiting in silence to hear what I have to say. I hate all the eyes in the room being on me, I hate this anxious feeling hovering through the hall.

I look up at Erlendur and give him the only answer I can. “I don’t know. I’ll let you know when I do”.

Then, before anyone can stop me, I flee to my room. With the door secured, I fling myself onto my bed and stare at the carvings in the ceiling.

I want to run out there to Erlendur, throw my arms around his neck, and kiss him. I want to tell him how relived I am to know he’s alright, how happy I truly am to see him return. But to do that feels like giving in, as if I’d be ignoring all the pain he caused me with his words. I want to tell him my true feelings, but I want to know he’s sincere in his first.

I remain in my room the rest of the night. When I come out at daybreak, I find Erlendur sitting in the hall with my father. They act as if nothing has changed.

What if I am the only one who’s changed? What if my heart has changed? I steal a glance at Erlendur as I prepare the morning bread. I no longer feel the warm flush when I look at him. Does it mean I no longer love him? Or have I simply moved passed the stage of awkward blushing?

Yet, I remember how I felt in my heart last night; at the tears I tried to hide when I feared for Erlendur being out in the storm, at Jorunn insisting I missed him and knowing—despite my protests—that she was right.

I try to force the issue out. It is so frustrating how much control this man can have on me. He is sitting in the same room, not even looking at me, and he is all I can think about. I glance over at him one more time. He takes a drink and grins at something my father is saying. They are speaking in hushed voices so I can’t hear.

“What are you two talking about?” I ask, aggravated.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with” my father responds.

This only increases my irritable feelings. I take the plate of finished bread and drop it on the table between them. I refuse to look at Erlendur this time.

“Brynja” Erlendur says. I pretend I didn’t hear him and go to finish my other chores.

As I walk out of the room, I think I hear Erlendur say, “She hates me”.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Later that morning, as I go to wash, I find blood on my thighs. This is a relief. If anyone complains of my anger and attitude, I can simply say I’m suffering from my monthly courses.

I spend most of the day in the textile room, at the back of the hall. This room is for the women only; the men are forbidden from here. In this room we have our largest looms for weaving, and we store thread to be spun and dyed.

I am finally forced to leave the room to get dinner ready. Even with so many more servants and slaves to do the work, I still feel responsible for seeing the family fed and clothed. I am so used to doing the cooking myself, that simply directed the slaves doesn’t feel right.

Dinner is a quiet affair. I try to avoid looking at Erlendur; though I find myself stealing glances now and then. I am still so conflicted. My heart arches for him, and I want to forgive him, but my pride tells me to stay angry. He has apologized for his behavior and confessed his love for me, as I wanted. So why am I still so angry?

As I oversee the clearing of the table after dinner, my father comes to me. “I need to speak to you” he says.

My stomach clenches with sudden anticipation. The tone of his voice suggests this will be a serious conversation, and I think I know what it will be about.

We go to sit in the corner where we will not be interrupted. I twist my hands together in my lap while I wait for him to speak.

“You haven’t spoken with Erlendur much since he returned”.

“No” I don’t know what else to say.

“Are you going to accept him back?” my father peers at me from over his drinking horn.

“Of course he’s welcome back. After all, you said he was like a son to you”.

“But you don’t seem happy to see him”.

“I told you about our conversation” I say. “What he said hurt me. I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive him”.

“Do you love him?”

The question catches me off guard, but I answer truthfully. “Yes, in spite of it all”.

“You love him, but you don’t want to forgive him?”

“I said I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive him, not that I don’t want to!”

My father nods. “As a once-married man, allow me to give you some advice: Forgiveness keeps a marriage going. There are going to be so many times you’ll be angry with your spouse, but harboring all that anger only makes things worse. If you want a successful marriage, you have to learn when to fight and when to forgive”.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “Erlendur is not my husband”.

“Of course not. But you admitted you love him. Love is a bit like going on a raid”.

“It’s time-consuming and potentially life-threatening?” I say sarcastically.

This gets a laugh out of him. “Well, yes. But love is another kind of journey. Sometimes you have to sail through some rough seas if you want to find any treasure”.

I ponder these words a moment. “So…what you’re saying is if I love someone, I have to be able to deal with the rough times to get to the good ones?”

“The rough times are hard to deal with. But they make the good times all the more sweeter when you get through them. We know Erlendur has a past. Everyone does. Are you going to judge him on it?”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t blame him for the things he did. He went through some terrible things. I think we would all react similarly”.

“And he is sorry for the things he’s said to you. He’s admitted him love for you. What other reasons do you have to be angry/”

I hesitate. “I suppose…I can forgive him” I say slowly. “Because I love him”.

My father nods with satisfaction and takes a drink. “Good. Because watching the two of you dance around one other would have given me more gray hairs”.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

I sit by the hearth and ponder my father’s words. I know Erlendur has a past, and I’ve decided not to judge him on it. He’s done so much good for my family. And even when he’s convinced he’s terrible, haven’t his actions for us proven the future can always be better?

Even though I felt angry at him for his words, I know I can’t carry them around in my heart forever. And I know I love him. Erlendur has apologized to me. Now I must do the same.

I know I should speak to Erlendur, but I find myself biding my time. If he thinks I hate him, and want nothing more to do with him, will he even care what I have to say? What if he’s decided to more on without me?

I worry over this for the next week, my fears increasing to being irrational. I am at constant odds with myself over this. One moment, I am convinced he returned because he truly loves me and means it, the next, I think he will not care if I never speak to him again.

My cycle ends, and with it gone I feel I can think straight again. I know I need to speak to Erlendur. I have put it off long enough. A week has passed since my conversation with my father; he keeps sending me glares of impatience. I would hate to cause him more gray hairs.

The next afternoon is warm for winter. The sunlight shines off the frozen lake and snow. I find Erlendur by the lake, at the same spot where he told me of his past.

I clear my throat to get his attention. “Can I speak to you?”

Erlendur looks surprised; I cannot blame him. “Say what you have to”. He sounds resigned. Perhaps he expects me to yell at him some more.

“I don’t care who you were before you came here. I care about who you are now. About who you’ll be in the future. Just because you didn’t think you were a good person before, doesn’t mean you can’t be better”.

I take a breath and it hurts to breath in the cold air. I ignore it, and force myself to continue. “What you said—about my needing to not love you—that hurt, because I do love you. I felt so angry and rejected. And then you left and I was certain I’d never see you again. I acted angry, but I was mostly scared. And I want you to know I’m sorry and I’m glad you’re back”.

Erlendur shakes his head. “There’s nothing you need to apologize for, Brynja. If anything, I should, for being such a coward. I forced you to admit your feelings for me, when I couldn’t do the same”.

He continues. “Almost two years ago now, my wife left me. I had lost my father, mother, and all of my siblings. Then, my wife was leaving me for a man I hated. I felt completely alone in the world. And it was so much easier to keep people shut out than risk being hurt or alone again”.

Erlendur steps forward so we are directly in front of each other. “I thought I could never trust or care for anyone ever again. But then I came here and met you…” he pauses to take a breath.

“I came here and met you, and I started to think—hope, even—that you might come to care for me. And perhaps I could do the same”.

He looks at me and places his fingers under my chin to tilt my head up. I am looking directly into his eyes and see myself reflected in them. I find I cannot look away from his gaze.

Erlendur is silent for a moment as we stare at each other. Finally, he speaks, “When I got to know you, I began to think of marriage again”.

I am not sure what to say. I search his face, hoping for more answers.

When we first met, I thought of Erlendur as a wolf. Angry, dangerous, something to be avoided. His eyes had burned with anger and pain, and I had been simultaneously drawn in and repulsed.

But his eyes are soft now as they look down on me. Dare I say it, they are the eyes of a man in love; a man who looks at his woman and sees his whole future.

I am not sure I trust my voice to speak. I gaze back at him and hope he can see the feelings in my eyes. I think, from the slow smile that forms on his face, he does.

“I love you, Brynja”. He rushes the words out, and I bite my lip to hide a smile. These are not words he’s used to saying, not words he will say a lot in the future, I’m sure, but my heart is touched anyway.

“I love you, too” I tell him.

“And you forgive me?”

“I forgive you”.

“And will you marry me?”

A weight seems lifted off him, now that those words are out. He watches me expectantly. I look into his eyes and realize he is completely serious.

I smile, and then I start to laugh. “Yes!” There is more I want to say; I want to pour out all my love to him. But this moment doesn’t feel like it needs spoken words. The emotions we convey between our eyes say it all.

Erlendur looks relieved. “I don’t know if I can be a good man, as you think I can. But I can try, for you”.

“I know you’re a good man” I say. “And I hope someday you’ll truly believe that”.

Erlendur’s face is passive as he takes in my words. Then, his eyes brighten and the happiest, most genuine smile I’ve seen on him appears. Still holding my chin, he bends down and places his lips against mine. They are warm against the biting air of winter.


	16. The Wedding

We announce our betrothal at Yule. My father and Erlendur must discuss the payment of the bride-price and dowry for the marriage to be valid. After several nights of discussion and ale around the hearth, they reach an agreement. Erlendur will pay my father a portion of the silver he earned on the last raid as a bride-price. In return, my father will give Erlendur one-third of the herds and lands for his own use and profit as my dowry.

The minimum a man can pay as a bride-price is twelve ounces of silver, though I know Erlendur has paid my father more than that. The dowry, though it is given to Erlendur, is my inheritance from my father. A man cannot squander his wife’s dowry, or use it to pay off debts, nor can it be confiscated if the man is outlawed. Should the woman be widowed, the dowry would be there to help support her and her children and would also be returned to her should she and her husband divorce.

On the last day of the Yule celebrations, once the negotiations have been settled, we seal our marriage contract and set a date for in the spring.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

The next few months go by rather uneventfully, aside from wedding planning. I am grateful for this. The past year has given me enough to last the rest of my life, I think. We make our way through the rest of the winter, into the lambing time, and my nineteenth birthday. Before I can even realize it, the day we have set for the wedding—a Friday, in honor of Frigg, goddess of marriage—is here.

I awaken early on the morning of our wedding. Over a year has passed since Erlendur and I first met. Had someone told me then that this stranger would one day become my husband, I would have laughed in disbelief.

I am freed of chores just for today, a perk of being the bride. I make my way out into the fields, where I gather stalks of wheat and straw and weave them together to make a crown. Then I gather the most beautiful spring flowers I can find, fastening them to the straw to make my bridal crown.

Halla, her sister-in-law Sigunn, and other married women from the village arrive at the hall just as I am finishing. A bride is always prepared by other married women. I insist Gudrun join in as well; though she was widowed last summer, she is my sister, and I want her to be with me today.

We all go into the bathhouse to wash. This is not a regular bath; everything about this day would be symbolic. I am stripped of my old clothing, a symbol of my life as a maiden, and will be cleansed; the first step in my transformation from maiden to wife.

We help one another to wash our hair, then soak in wooden tubs of warm water, washing ourselves with soap scented with herbs. Once we are all washed, we settle in the sauna. Rocks are placed in the center, heated by a fire beneath. Water is poured over them to produce steam. Small bundles of fir are used to gently switch our bodies and encourage us to sweat. The heat and sweat will help to rid our bodies of impurities, another symbol of the “washing away” of my maiden status.

During our visit to bath-house, talk turns to men and marriage. “Has anyone discussed with you your husband’s expectations?” Sigunn, Gorm’s wife, asks.

I am glad the heat of the sauna already has my skin red and sweating. “My grandmother told me men prized virginity in women before they were married and fidelity after”.

Another woman speaks up. “Men will praise a woman’s beauty, compliment her skills, but her loyalty is best”.

“That’s true” Sigunn says. “But they will want even more than loyalty, and beauty, and skills. Did your grandmother tell you anything about the wedding night?”

I stare at her and speak calmly. “I know I’ll have to consummate my marriage and bear children, if that’s what you’re implying”.

The smile on her face falters at the word “children”. “Of course. I mean the _details_. Do you know anything of the mechanics of sex? Have you and Erlendur—“

“I don’t think this is an appropriate subject” Gudrun sharply interrupts.

I am grateful. I’m not comfortable discussing the details, especially not my relationship with Erlendur, in front of any of these other women.

Sigunn turns an icy stare to my sister. “Why not, Gudrun? Brynja needs to know what she’s getting into”.

“She’s fine” Halla defends me. “I’m sure Brynja’s marriage will be fine and she’ll have _plenty_ of children”.

Sigunn’s smile fades completely. She and her sister-in-law glare at one another. I can sense something between the two of them, but I don’t know what it is.

I have rarely seen much of Sigunn. Halla had assured me she was kind, but shy. She does not seem like either, though.

Thankfully, the conversation veers away onto different subjects. I listen to the conversation around me, but don’t take in much. I think over Sigunn’s words. It’s true I know very little about the relationships between men and women. My grandmother had always impressed upon me that a girl was to remain a virgin until her wedding night, and to be faithful to her husband once she was married. But while she had explained how some things were to be when I became a woman, she had not gone into many details on exactly what I was to expect.

As if she knows what I am thinking, Gudrun leans over and whispers to me. “Don’t worry. Asta never gave me those talks either. And Elof and I were fine”.

My sister’s words make me feel a little better. We leave the bathhouse and go to dress. I slip into a new shift of linen. Halla comes over to help me comb out my hair.

“I’m sorry about Sigunn. When she first married my brother, she was shy, quiet. But I thought she was nice enough. She’s become bitter this past year, though”.

I try to turn my head to my friend, forgetting for a moment her is working on my hair. “What do you mean bitter...ow!” I wince as the comb hits a snag.

Halla picks at the tangle. “I never told many people, mostly because Gorm asked me not to, but” she pauses, and lowers her voice “she miscarried a child early in the marriage. And then a few months ago, she thought she’d conceived again, but she was wrong. Gorm is so disappointed. I think she might be barren. She doesn’t want to admit it though. She’s bitter towards any other women who could potentially have a child though”.

“I’m sorry” I say. “I never heard anything”.

“Don’t be sorry. Gorm didn’t want people knowing about it. But Sigunn and I have been at odds the past few months, I admit. She’s jealous that I’m with child—“

“Halla!” I shriek, pulling away from the comb to look at her properly. “Why didn’t you say anything before? How long have you known?”

She smiles. “I’m a month or two, I think. You’re the only person outside of family I’ve told. I thought it would get in the way of your wedding, so I didn’t say anything”.

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness. And I’m so happy for you!”

“Thank you. And I’m happy for you today. Now let’s get you ready for your wedding” Halla says, gesturing to my new dress the servants have laid out.

When making my wedding dress, I had wanted a simple gown of white linen, with an apron of light blue wool over it. Halla had argued with me it was too plain. “It’s your wedding” she’d said. “You may not have another chance to wear something so nice. You can be extravagant today”.

This made uncomfortable; unlike Halla, I do not like to be the center of attention. I tried to explain this to her. Her response was to put her hands on her hips and say sternly, “Brynja, it’s your wedding day. You are the bride. People are going to put all their attention on you whether you want it or not. You may as well give them something nice to look at”.

I had to admit she was right. We compromised; I still kept the dress of white and blue, but the apron was embroidered in beautiful patterns with colorful thread. Gold brooches would fasten at my shoulders, with strings of colored beads across my chest.

I place the beaded necklace Erlendur had given me around my neck and Gudrun adjusts the bridal crown over my outspread hair. “You look lovely” she assures me.

“We—Jorunn and I—have an early wedding gift for you” Gudrun tells me. She hands me something wrapped in cloth. I unwrap it and discover two silver bracelets. They are each made of silver cords wrapped tightly together, with small jewels set on each end.

I slip one onto each wrist. “They’re beautiful” I say. “Thank you”.

Halla carefully applies kohl around my eyes and smoothes out my skirt. Gudrun looks me over. “I think you’re ready”.

I nod. I am excited, but also nervous, fearful even. This is perhaps one of the most important days of my life. Everything will change after this.

We make our way outside to the lake, where the ceremony will be held. Tyrgve walks in front of me, proudly carrying the sword that is to be my gift to Erlendur. It is almost as long as he is tall. My father, sisters, and attendants follow behind me.

I pause for a moment when I see all our friends and neighbors gathered together in a half circle. Every eye seems to be fixed on me. I am so nervous now I fear I may faint.

At the end of the crowd, I see Erlendur. He is wearing a blue tunic in a shade similar to my own dress, so we look very coordinated. The tunic is embroidered in gold thread and a wide leather belt keeps it in place. His hair, even longer than it was a year ago, is neatly combed, and braided off his face.

Seeing him is reassuring and I manage to move forward, some of my fear gone. As I get closer to him, I notice he is smiling. I am so used to his taciturn expression that even now, seeing him smile takes me by surprise.

My father takes my hand and gives it a squeeze, then places it in Erlendur’s. With his other hand, he claps Erlendur on the shoulder. “Take care of her” he mutters, before stepping back to stand with the rest of the family.

The _gothi_ who will perform the ceremony is a woman near my father’s age, with eyes heavily lined with kohl. She raises her arms to address the crowd. “We have gathered here to witness this man and this woman to be joined together in marriage. Let us invite the gods to join us, so that they might witness and bless this union”.

A large white goat is led forward. Though we could have perhaps afforded to sacrifice multiple animals and hold a large feast, as Sindri and Halla did, Erlendur and I had decided to keep our wedding celebration small.

The goat is brought to where everyone can see. Behind where Erlendur and I are standing is a small altar. On it is a knife, large wooden bowl, a bundle of fir branches, and an arm-ring with two smaller rings set inside it.

The _gothi_ picks up the knife. Its steel blade gleams in the sun. “Hail to Thor, to Freyr, to Freyja! Hail to all the gods! We offer you this sacrifice. May you accept it, and bless this couple, and all here to witness this!”

With a swift motion of the knife, she slits the goat’s throat. The wooden bowl is placed underneath the animal; its blood pours down into it. When the bowl is full, the animal is taken away; it will be used as a part of our wedding feast.

The _gothi_ takes the bundle of fir branches and dips it in the blood. Blood drips down from it; it is suprising how much the bundle can hold. With sharp gestures, she moves the bundle down and across, in the sign of _Mjolnir_ , Thor’s hammer.

She makes the symbol over us, delicate drops of blood splattering against our faces, then goes around the circle, gesturing over all the guests. As she makes her way around, she chants: “Hail Frigga, the Mother. Hail Freyja, the Lover. Hail Freyr, the Provider. Hail Thor, the Protector”.

The sacrifice made, she returns the knife and fir to the altar. “Erlendur” she addresses him. “It is the duty of the husband to protect his wife, to defend her honor. What have you brought your wife?”

I know it is tradition for the groom to get an ancestral sword from his family to present to his bride. But Erlendur has no surviving family, and therefore no sword. I never asked him what he planned to use.

Erlendur hesitates a moment, then to everyone’s surprise, pulls out his own sword from its scabbard.

“Brynja,” he says to me. “I am offering to you all I have, including this sword. It was made for me and given to me by my father. It is all have left of my old life. By giving you this sword, asking that you keep it safe, I’m giving you all the remnants of my past, asking you to accept it, and let me build a new life with you”.

I feel tears come to my eyes. Erlendur has no ancestral sword to offer me, so he is offering me the only thing he has. With trembling hands, I take the sword for him. I somehow speak without a shake in my voice. “I accept this sword. And I accept you and your past. I will keep this sword for any son we might have and I look forward to the future we have together”.

The _gothi_ speaks to me now. ‘And what, Brynja, have you brought for your husband?”

Trygve sets forward and proudly offers the sword to me. I take it from him and offer it to Erlendur. It is newly forged by Ebran. I don’t know if it is as fine as Erlendur’s old sword, but it is still traditional for the bride and groom to exchange swords at their wedding. If afterwards, Erlendur wishes to continue using his own sword, I would understand.

With the swords exchanged, it is time for the rings. The _gothi_ moves to the altar and picks up the two rings. She holds them where they gleam in the sunlight. “These rings have been placed within the sacred arm-ring. The unbroken circle of the rings signifies the unbreakable nature of the vows you are about to take. Each ring shall be offered on the hilt of your sword, to emphasis the sacredness of these vows; the sword should be a threat to you both, should they ever be broken”.

She hands one ring to Erlendur, who places it on his sword hilt and holds it out to me. I pick the ring up from where it balances on the hilt. The ring is silver, engraved with runes of loyalty and love. I slip the ring onto my left hand, then offer Erlendur his ring in the same way. His ring is like mine, but slightly wider to fit his hand.

“Good” the _gothi_ speaks, “now join your hands together upon the sword hilt”. We do as she says. Erlendur hands feel warm over mine.

“Erlendur, do you swear to the gods you want to marry this woman? Do you swear to be loyal to her, to care for her, and to defend her life and honor?”

Erlendur looks directly into my eyes as he answers. “I swear”.

“And Brynja, do you swear to the gods you want to marry this man? Do you swear to be faithful to him, to care for him, and to honor him?”

I smile and keep my eyes on Erlendur. “I swear”.

“Then let the gods and all the witnesses gathered here recognize this couple as husband and wife. May the gods bless them with happiness, and make their union fruitful!”

Cheers go up around us as we are pronounced married. Erlendur smiles at me and leans forward to give me a swift kiss.

We make our way back into the hall for the wedding feast. When we reach the door, Erlendur lays his new sword on the threshold. He takes my hand and leads me over it. I am carefully to step clearly over the sword and the raised lip of the door. Superstition states that a doorway can be a portal between worlds, that stepping over the threshold is the literal transition between life as a maiden to life as a wife. It is considered a serious omen if the bide is to trip or fall while going through the door.

Inside the hall, a fire a blazes in the main hearth; the sacrificed goat is roasting on the spit above it. Servants have decorated the hall with strands of flowers garlanded around the pillars and draped in the rafters. The best linen tablecloth covers the main table for us to sit and even the good silver goblets have been set out.

We make our way to the main table at the far end of the hall for the last two parts of the marriage ceremony, before the feast can officially begin. On the table is a cup, bowl-like with handles in the form of animal heads on each side. I take the cup and fill it with honeyed mead. With both hands I hold the cup out to my husband.

He takes it from me, his hands brushing against mine as they did when we first met months ago. I recall the wolf-like sneer on his face, the tremor that went through my body as his fingers touched mine. Today, there is no sneer, only soft smiles in my direction.

Erlendru traces the sign of _Mjolnir_ over the cup and takes a drink. He passes the cup back to me. As I take a drink, I taste the alcohol, and silently hope I don’t have another episode like at Halla’s wedding last summer.

We take our seats at the table. My father, sisters, nephew and niece join us at the main table as family, with our friends and neighbors along the other tales.

The _gothi_ remains standing. She holds out a hammer, the symbolic _Mjolinir_. “Bring the hammer to bless the bride! Lay Mjolnir on the maiden’s lap! In Thor and Frigg’s name, hallow this union!”

Erlendur takes the hammer from her and sets it in my lap. Thor’s hammer is often seen as a weapon, but today, it is a symbol of fertility.

With the required ceremonies finally complete, the servants begin to pile the tables with the wedding feast. I let out a deep breath and lean back in my seat. We are officially married. He is my husband, and I am his wife.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Our wedding feast lasts into the night. There is much laughter and fun. Grimar recites a great poem he created for us, though much of it is about lingers on the battle and Erlendur’s duel with Hakon. The poem makes the story sound like a great saga, where the brave warrior defeated an evil man to win the hand of a fair maiden. Even embellished, it’s still a lovely work. We thank Grimar for his gift and reward him with a silver goblet of mead.

I carefully monitor the amount of drink I consume. I’ve never had a strong head for ale or mead and I remember how I fainted from the ale and heat at Halla’s wedding. I’d for the same thing to happen at my own. It’d make for an uneventful wedding night.

Finally, my father stands and shouts over the noise “It is time for the bedding!”

Shouts of excitement and laughter fill the hall. The warm happy feeling that filled me a moment ago sinks away. I was so nervous for today. But my biggest fear has not been so much the ceremony itself, but what comes after. I am nervous about my wedding night. I know Erlendur will have expectations of me as his wife that I will have to fulfill. I recall the teasing the other women gave me this morning. Gudrun and Halla have been married, Freydis and even Jorunn have more experience in the ways of lovemaking than I do.

Last Yule, when we were betrothed, Erlendur had indicated he wanted to go farther in our relationship. Being engaged, it probably would have been alright, but I had insisted we could wait a few months until we were married. Erlendur, thankfully, had respected my wishes to wait. But truthfully, I wanted him just as much, only I was too afraid. During those winter nights, we would sit huddled together by the hearth, a blanket or cloak wrapped around us, and we would sometimes cuddle and kiss when no one was looking. But that was the most intimate we’d ever been.

Tonight would be something different. We would have to consummate our marriage. I try to remind myself that many couples have gone though a wedding night and they’ve been fine. All the married women in the village have gone through at least one wedding night. They all had their first times. Now it is my turn.

Accompanied by the same women who helped me this morning, I go to prepare for my wedding night. The bridal chamber is one of the rooms in the back of the hall. The bed is across from the door and takes up much of the space. The bed-linens are new, woven as part of my dowry. There are also soft furs on top of them. A table is set up with two cups and a tankard of mead. It is tradition that the couple drinks mead each night for the next month. But they are only given are certain amount to last; it is consider ill-fortune to run out before the end of the month.

Rain has began to fall outside. I can hear it as my attendants help me prepare for bed. Gudrun helps me to remove my dress and change into a white shift, embroidered with gold thread. The design is of two embracing figures—the god Freyr and his wife Gerd—as symbols of marriage and fertility.

I temporarily remove the bridal crown so my hair can be combed and smoothed. Gudrun readjusts it on my head. Just as we are finishing, the door opens. Erlendur enters the bridal chamber. Half a dozen people, the required witnesses, gather behind him.

Gudrun gives me a quick hug. “You’ll be fine” she whispers. I cling to her for a moment, but she pulls out of my grasp. With a last comforting squeeze of my hand, she steps back.

Erlendur comes forward and eyes me up and down. It seems to take him a long time to reach up and remove the bridal crown from my head; the symbolic deflowering. With the witnesses having confirmed our identities and seen the “deflowering”, then make their way out of the room, not without the customary hooting and playful well-wishes. Gudrun leans in to hug Erlendur; she whispers something in his ear, but I cannot tell what. He nods, and she leaves with the others.

I am alone in the room with my husband. I didn’t realize one could be simultaneously happy and frightened. Erlendur removes his boots and shirt, casually tossing them to the side. In the faint light of the candles, I can see the muscles that ripple in his arms and torso.

I shiver and feel gooseflesh forming on my arms. I move away from Erlendur and slip into the bed, drawing the furs up to my chin. He watches me. I wonder what I look like to him, sitting up in the bed, my body hidden by the furs. My unbound hair falls over my shoulders, and I pray the flush I feel across my face is not noticeable in the dim candlelight.

Bare-chested, Erlendur sits on the edge of the bed. A loud clap of thunder interrupts the stillness of the room.

“Are you frightened?” he asks. I know he does not mean the storm.

“A little” I confess. “I heard so many different stories about wedding nights”.

“I suppose I am a little nervous too,” Erlendur admits. “I’ve never been with a virgin before”.

I’m not sure whether this knowledge should comfort me or not. “I’ve heard it can be painful”.

“Perhaps”. Erlendur stands up and starts to undo his belt. “I don’t know if I’m capable of being gentle”.

I nod. That does not help me feel any better. I lean back against the furs.

“I know this is your first time. I understand you must be scared. I will try to make you comfortable. It would be awful if you were so upset you never let me touch you again”.

I stare at him and he gives me a playful grin. “Feel better?”

“No. If you were trying to make me feel better by teasing me, it’s not helping. I went through plenty this morning”.

“I was just trying to be funny. Erlendur removes his trousers. I can’t help but stare at the shadowed outline of his naked body as he moves to the bed and slips under the furs at my side. “Perhaps you will feel better if I kiss you rather than talk?”

He leans forward and cups my face in his hands, and presses his lips against mine. The frantic beating of my heart begins to slow.

But then our lips pull apart and he leans me back until I am lying flat on the bed, staring up at him. The fear and anxiety, that had for one fleeting moment disappeared, returns just as quickly.

“Who teased you this morning?”

“Some of the women helping me get ready. They were all talking about what men expect from their wives and…” I trail off, embarrassed.

Erlendur presses his lips to my temple. As we talk, he carefully pulls at my shift. He pulls it over my head, so we are both unclothed. “You don’t need to be afraid or ashamed. Everyone has a first time. Just relax”.

I don’t feel ashamed to be with my husband, but I am nervous. A few months ago I panicked over kissing this man in the woods. Now, I am naked in a bed with him.

I feel the weight of his body over mine. Then his hands are roaming; his fingertips tracing patterns on my skin. “Relax” he murmurs in my ear. “I’ll be gentle as you need me to be”.

He kisses me softly, then trails his mouth down my jaw and neck.

“You can tell me if you are uncomfortable and I can stop. I want you, desperately, but not if you’re not comfortable”.

“I’ll be fine” I insist. I am still nervous, though his words help. I lean up to kiss him; perhaps being more proactive will help.

Erlendur responds to my kiss with hunger. He gently pushes me back onto the bed. “I love you” he murmurs as he leans in for another kiss.

I lie back on the bed and let my husband introduce me to the ways of lovemaking. He displays a tenderness neither of us realized he was capable of.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Erlendur sighs heavily and rolls over to lie at my side. In the sputtering firelight, I see him smiling. He is obviously pleased with himself.

I am pleased with him too.

I drag the furs over my body. Even after building up a light sweat from our efforts, I am slightly chilled. I want to speak, but need a moment to catch my breath.

“I love you…husband”.

Erlendur does not answer me with words, but I feel his lips press against my neck as we settle into sleep.


	17. Changes

When I awaken the next morning, Erlendur is gone. The bed is still warm where he was lying.

As I get up to go look for him, the door bursts open and my attendants from yesterday bustle in.

Halla grins when she sees me. “So?”

I pull the furs up to my chin, aware of my lack of clothing. “It was fine”.

“Just fine?”

“It was fine” I repeat. Even though Halla is my friend, I don’t see a need to give her all the details of my wedding night. I think that should be between Erlendur and myself.

“Have you seen Erlendur?” I ask, as I wrap myself in one of the furs.

“No, I haven’t”. Halla and the others shake their heads.

This does not reassure me. I gather my fur wrap around me and go to wash. The bridal bed is being stripped.

Sigunn starts to pull off the furs and blankets, then gives me an accusatory glare. “You didn’t bleed”.

“Was I supposed to?” I reply.

“Virgins bleed their first time. You didn’t. There’s no blood on the bed”.

I am already tired of Sigunn and I’ve only just got up. I am aware of the other women in the room looking between us. “Just what are you implying?”

I know exactly what it is she is implying about me. But I want to hear her say it.

“Enough” Gudrun interrupts us in the firm tone she uses for disciplining the children. “Not all girls bleed. It doesn’t matter”.

Sigunn opens her mouth to respond, but Gudrun’s glare keeps her quiet. I turn my back on Sigunn and march to my bath, feeling as if I’ve won some small victory. I let her embarrass me yesterday while preparing for my wedding, but I am a married woman now, same as her, and I no longer need to feel ashamed of my lack of knowledge on intimacies.

“What did I do to her?” I whisper as I wash.

Gudrun takes a comb and works at the tangles in my hair. “Never mind her. It’s unfortunate her situation with childbearing, but that’s no excuse for her to act the way she does. You don’t need to feel sorry for her”.

“Erlendur didn’t mention anything…about the bleeding. He never asked—“.

“It doesn’t matter” Gudrun says firmly. “He knew you were a virgin. He won’t care about some blood”. The tone of her voice makes it clear she does not want to discuss it further.

Once I am washed, I pull on a clean linen shift, and open the chests that contain part of my dowry. In addition to the land and herds my father provided Erlendur, my dowry includes all my clothes and belongings, my spindle and loom, the bed and new bedsheets, as well as various household items.

In the chests are my clothes, including some new dresses made for me. A girl is stripped of her old clothing, her symbol of being a maiden, before the wedding. So now I have some new clothes to mark myself as a wife.

As I dig through the clothes to select a dress, I cannot help but feel excited. Growing up, I was often in Gudrun’s hand-me-downs, and only on special occasions did I ever receive new clothes.

I select a dress in a beautiful shade of dark green, with embroidery similar to what was on my wedding dress. Gudrun helps me to pull the dress on and fasten it. Halla combs out my hair and works on putting it up.

Only married women wear their hair up, so today will be the first time for me. I have always worn my hair down freely, with the front strands pulled to the side and tied back, or in a braid. It feels a bit strange to have all my hair put up on my head.

Halla combs out my hair, and even puts a few little braids here and there, before pinning it all up. I fasten some amber earrings, also part of my dowry, into my earlobes, put on my wedding ring, and the necklace from Erlendur. Halla holds up a bronze me for me to see my reflection.

“What do you think?”

“I am a little overdressed”, I admit. Seeing Halla’s annoyed face, I quickly add, “but since it is only the day after my wedding, I suppose it is fine”. Before too long, I will have to back to my regular outfits of aprons and brooches. I suppose I should enjoy this.

“Thank you” I add. “You did a wonderful job. I couldn’t do this”.

Halla smiles with satisfaction. “It’s not the difficult; I can teach you. And I can make sure the servants know how too. It’s a nice look for special occasions, at least. Too much for everyday, even for me”.

Before I can make any other response, the door opens again. Erlendur enters, dressed in his normal clothes. A smile lights his face when he sees me.

“Good morning, wife” he says.

I mean to ask where he was this morning, but he comes forward and gives me a kiss, keeping me from speaking. When he pulls away I see a childish excitement on his face. “I have a surprise for you” he says.

Intrigued, we follow him out into the hall. I suppose by surprise, he means my morning gift. A husband always presents his new wife with a gift the morning after their wedding.

Erlendur goes to the table and picks something up, careful to hide it from my view. There is a squeaking noise from whatever he is holding.

“Close your eyes” he tells me.

I raise an eyebrow in response.

“Just do it” he insists. “It’s a surprise”.

I sigh and shut my eyes. I hear Erlendur stepping forward, then hear him say, “Alright, you can open them now”.

I open my eyes and see a pair of round ambers staring back at me. But they are not jewels; they’re eyes. I focus on what Erlendur is holding: a small black kitten.

“Oh!” I cry in delight. “Thank you! He’s adorable”.

“I had to go get him this morning from one of the tenants. His cat had kittens a few months ago. He’s just old enough to leave his mother”.

I gingerly take the kitten from him and cuddle it to my chest. Then I remember: cats are sacred to Freya, the goddess of love. It is a tradition to give new brides kittens for their households, as a symbol of love. I am touched Erlendur knew.

The kitten mews in my hands. “What’s his name?”

“Whatever you want to call him. He’s yours”.

“I think I’ll call him Narvi”. In our stories, Narvi is the man who is the father of Night.

Narvi mews again and squirms, so I set him down. He quickly takes to exploring the hall.

“The hounds are outside” Erlendur says quickly, seeing me eye the kitten’s movements. “He’ll be fine”.

I step forward to kiss him. “Thank you. If this is how our marriage goes, I think we’ll be very happy”.

………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The “honey-moon”, the first month of our marriage passes quickly. Far more quickly than I would like.

When all the festivities of our wedding are over, we move back into our cycle of work. The fields need plowed and seeds planted. The boats are hauled from their winter housing to be cleaned and prepped for the coming raiding season.

As we move further into the spring, closer to summer, the days lengthen and get warmer. The trees and flowers are in full bloom.

Also blooming is our relationship in the bedroom. That first night, I was a shy virgin. But as the days and weeks have passed, I feel I’ve grown more confident with myself. Lying among the furs with my husband each night, I feel stronger somehow. Perhaps it is just the euphoric feeling following lovemaking that makes me feel this way. Whatever the reason, I enjoy it.

The moon waxes and wanes a full cycle since our wedding. One day, as I am straightening the bedsheets, I think back to Sigunn’s accusations over the lack of blood. I have seen or heard nothing from her since then, which is fine by me. In spite of Gudrun’s words, I do feel sorry for her. I cannot imagine the pain of having lost her child, and then to be unable to conceive another must be so stressful.

I stare down at the sheets. There’s a thought stirring in the back of my mind, something which is lingering, but not quite clear. Then I understand. There is no blood on the sheets. I have not bled since before the wedding.

I try to count back the days to when my last cycle ended. It must have been a couple of weeks before the wedding when I had my last blood. A month has passed since the wedding, so it has been about six weeks since my last cycle. I am two weeks late for my next period.

I sink down onto the bed and place a hand against my stomach, as if I could feel something inside me. Could I already be with child? Erlendur and I have lain together almost every night this past month.

A strange feeling swells up in my chest; some odd mix of panic and joy. I force myself to stand up, feeling unsteady. I need to see Gudrun.

I make my way into the main hall to look for her. I find her sitting by the hearth talking to two men. I takes me a moment to recognize them. It is Ukkr, Halla and Freydis’ uncle, and his second son, Asvald.

Ukkr is a little older than our father, with gray hair and a thick beard. It spite of his age, he is still fit and strong, with muscles that benefit a blacksmith. His bright blue eyes shine in the sunlight that comes through the door.

Asvlad is taller than his father, with the same blue eyes, though they don’t have the same light to them. A sharp nose takes up much of his face and gives him a hawk-like look, softened only by the long black hair that falls over his shoulders. He is four years older than I, and unmarried, but still very handsome. I wonder what they are both doing here.

Ukkr notices me and nods in greeting. “Brynja. How does married life treat you?”

I force myself to smile. “Very well, thank you. How are you?”

“We are all well, thank the gods”. He glances at my sister and grins. “And I hope to do even better”.

“That is good. If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with my sister”.

Gudrun has an odd flush on her cheeks, a strange gleam in her eye as she stares at us. I don’t understand.

Ukkr nods his understanding. “We actually have to be off”. He nods to both of us and turns to leave. Asvald lingers a moment, gaping at Gudrun, then turns and follows after his father without a word.

I am very confused. “What was that about?”

Gudrun’s flush deepens. ‘It’s nothing. They just stopped by to say hello”.

I frown. It seems a long way to travel from the village for such a quick visit without some other motive. I stare at the look in Gudrun’s eyes and recognize it. Is this not the same bright eyes and flushed cheeks I sported when I was falling in love with Erlendur?

Gudrun shakes her head and turns to me. “What did you need?”

I go to respond, but Jorunn rushes in at that moment. “I just saw Asvald and Ukkr leaving. Where they here?”

“They were. Why is this such an issue?” I am annoyed by the unwitting interruption.

Jorunn blushes. “It’s not, but Asvald is so handsome, isn’t he? He and Gorm are probably the best-looking men in the area”.

I make an indelicate scoffing noise. “Not that handsome. And if he is so attractive, why has he not gotten a wife yet? He is already twenty-three”.

Jorunn responds to my scoff with one of her own. “You have to say that. You’re married. Some of us aren’t attached. We’re allowed to look”.

“You’ve done more than look” Gudrun warns. “You need to be careful, Jorunn. Your reputation—“

“I know, Gudrun” Jorunn is suddenly angry. ‘I know; I had sex with one man, made one mistake, and now I’m such a whore! I remind myself every day! I still get looks and whispers whenever I’m in the village. I don’t need it from you, too!”

There are tears forming in her eyes. She pushes past us and runs for her room.

Gudrun shifts in her seat. “I wasn’t saying that to upset her. But she does need to be careful”.

“I know that. She knows that too, now. She only just turned sixteen a few months ago” I remind my sister.

Gudrun shakes her head again. “Enough of that. She’ll come around. Now, what did you want to talk about, before we’re interrupted again”.

I place a hand to my stomach. “I..I think, I’m…” I t seems so unreal, I cannot even say the words.

Gudrun places her own hand on my stomach. “When was your last period?”

“Since before the wedding. It’s been six weeks”.

“Have you felt ill at all?

“I…have been a little tired, lately. And I’ve have a strange craving for lamb this past week. I don’t even like lamb that much”.

“It’s early. But I think you may be with child”.

But I don’t just think; somehow, I know. I am certain I’m with child.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

It will take me a couple of days to come to terms with this. I am unsure of how to tell Erlendur. He has always been good with the children, making little toys for Kari and taking Trygve to fish and hunt. Just today, they’ve gone out in search of rabbit.

They return home that afternoon, Tyrgve runs in yelling, ‘Mama, Mama, look what I got!”He proudly thrusts a dead rabbit in his mother’s face.

Gudrun grimaces. “Good job, my little hunter”.

Erlendur sets his crossbow and quiver by the door. “He got it all by himself”.

Gudrun makes a face as they pull the rabbit out from under her nose. “I’m grateful to you spending time with my son, Erlendur. But I really don’t need to see the kills”.

I laugh from where I’m working at my loom with last of the previous summer’s wool. “You’re a healer, you know how to cook meat, yet a dead rabbit bothers you?”

“When it’s put directly in my face and I get a whiff of it, yes”.

She turns to Trygve. “Maybe Erlendur can take you outside and show you how to skin it. We’ll have it for dinner”.

“Okay!” He grabs his rabbit and runs back outside.

Erlendur grins at me. “I wish I still had that energy”.

I start to smile back, when a wave of nausea hits me. I feel dizzy and see spots of color in front of my eyes. My knees start to buckle.

A pair of strong hands wrap around me to keep me from falling. I hear someone saying my name. The colors fade and the dizziness slowly subsides.

Erlendur helps me to sit and crouches down in front of me. “Brynja? What’s wrong? Are you ill?’ There is a tremor of fear in his voice.

I force a smile and take his hand to comfort him. I may as well tell him now.

“I am with child”.

I watch Erlendur’s face and see my words sink in. He is quiet for what seems like a long time.

“You’re sure?” he finally asks.

“Yes. We’re going to have a child”.

“A child” Erlendur repeats softly. He reaches out and places a hand against my belly. “Gods, I never thought…” he trails off.

I place my hand on top of his where it rests against my stomach. “Never thought what?”

“I never thought I would get to be a father, with my own children”. There is emotion in his voice, just barely hidden beneath a stoic expression.

“Well, you are going to be a father”. I want to say something else, but don’t know what.

Erlendur stand and pulls me close to him. I wrap my arms around his waist.

“I know” he says. Let us hope I can be a good one”.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

I though pregnancy would be something wonderful. A new life growing inside of you, every day filling you with more joy.

It is nothing like that. The nausea seems determined to stay, the food cravings come and go. My breasts start to swell and become tender to touch. My nausea continues into the summer and I feel tired all the time. These past few months have not been a pleasure at all.

Erlendur is reluctant to leave on the summer raids. “I don’t have to go” he says, as the ship is being loaded. “If you’d rather I stay…”

I brush his concerns away. Of course I want him with me. But with or without him, I still expect to be sick and there will not be much he can do about it. “Go on your raid. I’ll be fine. I’d hate to deprive you of your adventure”.

He kisses me goodbye. “Life with you is an adventure”.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He grins at me before heading to the ship.

The raiders are not gone more than a few weeks. I cannot remember much of the time; I am usually attached to my bed, trying to ward off the bouts of nausea and dizziness.

Once the first few months of my pregnancy pass, I begin to feel better. I am not ill so often and my appetite and sexual energy seem to return. Erlendur is especially pleased with this.

We move farther into the summer. I let out my dresses and watch my stomach expand with the passing months. One evening, Gudrun informs us that she has some important news. We are sitting around the table having dinner. It is a relief to be able to eat normally again.

“Ukkr has asked me to marry him”.

A stunned silence falls over the table.

“Ukkr?” Jorunn repeats. “But he’s old! Older even than Father”.

“Thank you, Jorunn” our father says dryly.

“Sorry. I mean, he’s already had a wife—“.

“Who’s been dead these past fourteen years. She drowned in the fjord.” Gudrun replies. “He wants to remarry”.

“Why now? He has no need” I object. “His sons are grown. Atli is two years older than you! And Asvald is younger. Atli is married with children of his own!”

My arguments are selfish. I don’t want my sister to leave again. I remember how difficult it was for me, at twelve years old, to be left with running the household when she married Elof and moved to the village. Now, I am to have a child. I don’t want her to leave. Not now.

“Perhaps he is lonely, too. I am lonely; I miss my husband. I think it best if I remarry. I hate to be a nuisance here”.

“You’re anything but.” I tell her.

Gudrun shakes her head. She looks all of us firmly in the eyes. “I have decided. I will marry again and give my children a father. Ukkr made an offer. I’ve accepted”.

“I would have thought Asvald” Jorunn says. “He’s much closer to your age and he’s never been married”.

Gudrun flushes. “He did not ask me. His father did”.

I shake my head in bewilderment and reach my hand under the table. Erlendur grasps it. I do not know what it is like to lose a husband; I hope I never have to know. And I know Gudrun is still mourning for Elof. I know she wants her children to have a father figure. But why does it have to be a man old enough to be their grandfather?

Gudrun will not budge from our objections. Only our father does not object; he simple nods in acceptance. I sense he is not pleased, either, but he is allowing Gudrun to make her own choices.

They are married later in the summer, after the harvest is in. The wedding is small, just our families. The wedding feast does not seem to have the same sense of fun and love that mine or Halla’s had.

At the wedding, I see Halla. Her belly is protruding from under her dress. “Only a few more months to go” she says. She is much more cheerful about her pregnancy than I am mine. My stomach is rounder than before, as I am into my fourth month, but it is not so visible under the loose dress I where.

“Is is difficult? Later on I mean?”

“Being with child? Aside from backaches, swollen ankles, and constantly being kicked from the inside? It’s wonderful”.

The wedding is over before I really have time to take it in. It is so strange to think she is married to someone else. The hall does not feel the same with Gudrun and the children gone. I miss her even more now than I did when she first married and left.

I distract myself by focusing on my child. Just a few weeks after the wedding, I am woken by a fluttering feeling in my stomach.

“Erlendur! Wake up”.

“What?”

“The baby is moving!”

“What!” Erlendur sits bolt upright. I take his hand and place it against my belly.

“Do you feel it?” I can see a smile on his face in the faint light.

“I feel it. There’s really a baby”.

We stay up, trying to feel more kicks. When we finally go back to sleep, Erlendur wraps his arm around me, his hand resting against my stomach.

My joy at feeling the baby is somewhat overshadowed by the rest of my pregnancy. Halla was right about the rest; my back aches, my ankles are starting to swell if I stand too long.

On a cold, fall morning our breakfast in interrupted by someone at the door. A servant escorts Gorm inside.

“My sister has had her child” he announces as he enters. “She wanted you all to know”.

Hall has had her baby! “That’s wonderful. Is she alright?”

“She’s fine. It’s a strong boy. Sigrid is thrilled”.

My father smiles. “It is always a blessing to be given a son”.

Gorm shifts in discomfort. “Yes, I suppose so”.

I remember Sigunn’s barrenness and wonder if my father knows.

“You’ll give them our congratulations, of course?” Erlendur asks. “And have they decided on a name?”

“Of course. And the boy’s name is Ingimund”.

I place a hand against my ever-increasing stomach. In just a few months time, I’ll have my own child. I am terrified, even more than I was of my wedding night.

My mother died in childbirth. I remind myself that many women have children and live through it. Halla is younger than I and has had her first child, apparently with no problems.

“How is the rest of your family?” I ask to distract myself. “I’m sure they’re all excited”.

“They are. Father is proud to have a grandson. He and Uncle are taking bets on how many grandchildren they’ll have between the two of them”. There is a bitterness in his voice.

“Gorm” I say softly. “I know about Sigunn’s…issue. And I’m sorry”.

He sniffs. “Don’t be. Perhaps I’ll follow my uncle’s example and get a new wife”.

“You would divorce her?”

Gorm shrugs. “I don’t know yet. We’ve been married over a year and a half, and she’s been pregnant once. It didn’t last. I would like to have children and I want a woman who can give them to me”.

I am stunned. I had always seen Gorm as someone kind and understanding, a big brother figure of sorts. He is a different person now, so much colder. Has his marriage to Sigunn really changed him so much?

“And Freydis?” I ask, hoping to steer from a dangerous topic. “I never see her anymore. Will you tell her I miss her?”

“I can. She spends all her time with that servant girl”.

“Thora”.

“Yes. She always said she never wanted to marry or have children. Maybe now that you are Halla both are, she is looking for new friends”.

I want to argue Freydis would not give up our lifelong friendship so easily, but Gorm’s words make sense. I can hardly remember the last time I really saw Freydis. She was at the Gudrun’s wedding, but I barely had a chance to see her, much less speak. And Thora had been there at her side. Has Freydis really abandoned us?


	18. Blood of Kings

As my time draws nearer, I become more and more frightened at the thought. My own mother died in childbirth, and that she survived two births before perishing in the third does nothing to comfort me.

I have heard many different stories of births, though the only ones I’ve witnessed have been the farm animals. I’ve heard stories of women who scream like warriors going into battle, and of women too frightened to make a peep, so they hold their breath and faint. I have heard stories of women who live through birthing multiple children at a time and others who die in pools of blood with their first. I have no idea what fate will be mine.

And telling myself that the gods have already determined our lives is not helpful either. Perhaps it will be my fate to die giving life to another, just as it was for my mother, and there will be nothing anyone can do. But I am so afraid; I don’t want to die. I want to live to see my child, to raise them with my husband. I can only imagine Erlendur’s reaction if I were to not survive the birth. He has already lost so much before; I could not bear to cause him more pain.

And when I am not worrying over my life, I worry over my child. What if they are born and draw no breath? What if the cord wraps around their neck or they fall prey to illness before they ever have a chance at life?

No amount of idle spinning distracts me. In my condition, I can only do light work now. Even my ankles swell badly when I stand too long, so I cannot even weave for more than moments at a time.

In seventh month of my pregnancy, I complete a ritual to help me and my child through the birth. Asgerd, our slave and Hakon’s former concubine, teaches it to me. I draw blood from my finger with a needle and use the blood to draw protective runes on piece of wood. Next, I spin three lengths of thread and dye them: one white, one red, and one black.

We toss the wood into the hearth to burn and mix the ashes into mead, which Asgerd insists I drink. I am reluctant to do so, but she insists it will provide me protection. It seems I am not to be protected though, for I vomit it up almost immediately.

When my reaction is over, we take the threads and soak them in boiling salt water, and leave them to dry in branches of a three for three days. On day of the birth, the black threads, symbolizing bad luck and death, will be burned and the ashes buried. The white thread will be used to tie and cut the cord after birth, and the red thread will be strung with an amber bead and tied around baby’s wrist for protection.

I do not know if Asgerd’s charms will work; but she had borne two sons to Hakon and survived. I wish for Gudrun. She has been living back in the village with her new husband. I hope she is happy, but I am in no condition to travel to see her. Some days it is a struggle just to get out of a chair with my looming belly.

My wish comes true; a few months before my time Gudrun arrives, surprising me. I think I am imagining her at first. But then, she embraces me and I know it is real.

“What are you doing here? Doesn’t your husband need you?”

“He can manage. I knew how afraid you must be with your first child. It is only fair I am here for you. I wouldn’t have come so earlier but I wanted to be here before the first snow”.

“I am so relieved. You cannot imagine. But you are sure Ukkr won’t care you’ll spend the winter here?”

“I told him my sister would need me now more than ever. He is a good man, Ukkr. And I really want for nothing. He treats me well, and the children”.

I force a smile. I am not thrilled with Gudrun’s choice of a second husband, but to know she is well-treated is a relief. “Are the children not here with you?”

“No. I wanted to bring them, but though it would be best if they stayed in the village. Ukkr’s eldest son and daughter-in-law have children of their own, two boys and a girl around their ages. They’ll be alright”.

………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Winter comes quickly; one day the world is calm and cool, the next, we awaken to find it completely white with snow. I am trapped in the hall, with not much to do but sit by the hearth and spin until my fingers ache. The room gets stuffy from the smoke and some days I crack the door for a moment just to breathe fresh air. Gudrun is a joy to have back. My heart aches at the thought of her leaving though. Asvald, her stepson, even makes trips through the snow to give her news of her children. They get along well; Gudrun smiles and laughs around him. I cannot help but feel it would have been better if she’d married Asvald. They are only a few years apart. Yet she is to be his stepmother, to a man only a few years her junior.

I spend so many long days in the smoky hall, I lose track of the time. Yule is upon us before I realize. It is the first Yule for Erlendur and I as married couple. I feel this should be an important time, yet I am also too miserable with the pregnancy to care much.

At Yule the great log is dragged onto the hearth to burn throughout the celebrations. The men have had luck with hunting on a few sunny days; there is fresh venison now, so at least we can have a few days without salted fish and smoked pork.

At the Yule celebrations I ask Erlendur about Freydis. “You saw her on the last raid? Did she seem all right to you?”

Erlendur frowns over his cup of ale, thinking. “Freydis…didn’t go on the last raid”. He says slowly.

“But I thought she would have”.

My husband shakes his head. “I don’t remember seeing her. Her—friend—said she wasn’t well”.

“If she was sick, why didn’t someone say anything? She is my friend. I would want to know”.

“I didn’t think of it. And besides, you had enough to worry you”. He nods at the bulge under my dress. “She had plenty of people to look after her. She’s fine. Gudrun would have said if she wasn’t. And didn’t Gorm say she was with…what’s-her-name, again?”

“Thora. She’s a servant for Sindri. I suppose you are right, though. I haven’t been able to think of almost anything else but the birth”.

Erlendur places his hand against my stomach. “And how is our child?”

“Ornery. He’s been kicking me constantly. I don’t think I’ve slept this past month”.

“Stop hurting your mother” Erlendur speaks to my stomach in a mock-reprimand.

I smile. “I think he will take after his father”.

A look of pretend terror crosses his face. “Let’s hope not. I’d rather he take after you”.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The next few weeks of winter pass by much the same. My only relief is that with each passing day I am a little closer to being relieved of my child.

Finally, I reach my ninth month, and I know my child will come anytime. It is strange to think that it has been almost two years since I first found Erlendur by the stream. So much has happened in that time. And now, we are married, and I am about to have our first child together. That day cannot come quick enough.

One evening after dinner, I sit by the hearth fiddling with my spindle. There is not much left for spinning; the other women have dyed the threads and have been working on the weaving all winter. In just another few weeks, the next lambing will begin, and we will start the cycle for wool over again.

I look around the quiet room, only the hearth fire making much noise. Jorunn and Gudrun are at the loom. Erlendur sits with my father where they discuss plans for the coming summer. We have been fortunate enough these last few years. Even with all the struggles we’ve faced, we have survived, and this past harvest was especially bountiful. There is no real economic reason to go on a raid, except perhaps for the pleasure and possibility of more gold and goods. The raids of the past few years have brought prosperity to the whole community.

There is a sudden, sharp cramp in my back, drawing me from my thoughts, so painful I have to double over. I feel a cold wetness soaking my skirt. I do not need to ask Gudrun what is happening; I am in labor.

“My child is coming” I try to sound calm, but inside, I am terrified. There is a flurry of activity. Erlendur hurries over to me and crouches at my side. Gudrun takes charge and calls orders. “Asgerd, Erlendur, take Brynja into the back room. Take her hair down. Jorunn, go round the hall and make sure all the doors and chests are unlocked”.

Jorunn grabs the keys. “Alright, but what for?”

“There should be nothing knotted, or bound, or locked. It is a birth magic; it will help to unlock her own womb and let the child out”.

Jorunn raises a brow in question, but does as she’s told. I lean against Erlendur as he helps me into the other room. Asgerd helps me to change from my dress, now soaked with water, into a shift of undyed wool.

I look to Erlendur, knowing my eyes must show my fear. He presses his lips against by brow. “Don’t be afraid. You’ll be fine” he whispers against my hair.

He undoes my braid, running his fingers through the thick waves. After we’d make love, he’d do this, raking his fingers from my scalp to the ends, letting it slide through his fingers like water. Were it not for the pain in my back and my fear for the night ahead, I would find it calming.

“I’m scared” I whisper. I want to be brave, for my husband and child.

“Pray to Frigg” Gudrun says, coming in with an iron pot. A servant follows her with linen for swaddling. Gudrun sets the pot over the hearth and stokes the flames.

I grimace. “I am already sweating. Do we need a fire? It is not that cold”.

“You’re sweating because you are afraid. And you’ll sweat a lot more before this is over. I am making you a hot herbal drink; it will help with your pain”.

As soon as she says the word, a cramp runs through my back and abdomen. It is much like the cramps I get during my cycle, but stronger.

“Help her to walk around. It will encourage the child to come out”.

I want to protest, but Erlendur is already pulling me to my feet. He puts an arm around my waist and we walk in circles around the room.

“Will it take long?” Now that it has started, I only want this ordeal to be over. I cannot stop my voice from quaking.

“The first birth is always the longest” Gudrun assures me. “We are all here for you”.

I look over at Erlendur and see he is as pale as I feel. He is frightened, too, but he is trying to hide it behind a blank stare.

We take a moment to sit and rest. My back aches and my ankles are still swollen; it huts to be on my feet. Asgerd comes over, bearing a bowl of red paint. Using her fingers, she starts to trace runes on my abdomen.

“What are you doing?” Erlendur asks warily. It is the first time he has spoken since my labor began. The arm he has around my shoulders tightens.

“They are runes. They will call on Frigg and Freyja to help to ease your birth and give you strength”.

I nod, then clench my jaw as another contraction starts. I force myself to my feet and we walk some more. The pain worsens; it is like cramps, but much worse. It runs through my back and abdomen as if I am being stabbed with a hot iron blade. I try to speak, to say how tired I already am, but I can only moan.

Erlendur helps me to sit again so I can rest. I try to smile, to thank him for being here. It is expected that a man be present when his child is being born. He is to be in the room with his wife to help her through the ordeal.

Gudrun ladles some of the hot herbal drink into a cup for me to drink. At first, I do not want it, but as soon as I get the first sip, I gulp down the rest greedily.

Erlendur rubs my back while I drink. I see how wide his eyes are and realize he is as afraid as I am. How many men have been made widowers because their wives could not survive a birth?

Hours seem to pass while the contractions become longer, and stronger. I do not know exactly how much time goes by, only that it feels never-ending. I focus on breathing and alternate walking and resting.

“I don’t think I can walk anymore” I finally gasp. “I am so tired”.

“It’s nearly time to push” Gudrun says. “You are doing so well, so brave, little sister”.

The contractions continue in strength; they are even closer together than before. I begin to shake from exhaustion and fear. I am nauseous. I want to lie down, but I am also restless and want to move about.

“I think it’s time” Gudrun says. “You will have to stand up”.

I get to my feet, Erlendur and Asgerd supporting me. Erlendur is whispering something, but I cannot tell what. I stand upright, squatting over the straw placed on the floor to absorb to the mess. Gudrun kneels in front of me to catch the baby.

“It hurts!” I cry. “I need to push!”

Gudrun shakes her head. “Not yet”.

The pain is unbearable and I start to scream. “I need this baby out _now_!”

“Alright…push”.

I take a breath and push as hard as I can. I feel as if nothing is happening. Gasping, I push again and scream against the pain. Tears blur at my vision and sweat has soaked my shift. My loose hair is plastered to my face.

“Breathe” Gudrun coaches. “You are doing fine. Breathe and push”.

I do as she says, straining with every bit of strength I have. “I can’t! I can’t!”

“Yes, you can” Erlendur and Gudrun speak at the same time.

“Almost there…the baby’s coming. Push one more time, as hard as you can”.

The urge to push is unbearable. I try another gulp of air and push. There is a burning, stretching sensation between my legs. My screams fill the room.

Finally, there is a strong sense of relief as I feel something slip between my legs. Exhausted, I slump back into Erlendur’s arms. Gudrun catches the baby as it comes out. She immediately goes to wipe its mouth and nose, but there is no need. Its cries pull me out of my stupor.

I force my eyes open to look at my child. Gudrun smiles as she holds the baby up. “You have a son, a strong boy”.

A son! We have a child!

Asgerd holds him, while Gudrun helps Erlendur to tie the white thread around the cord and cut it. I am so relived it is over, so happy to have my child, but also so weary. I feel I may fall over if I do not get to lie down. I never want to hear anyone say a woman who is a wife and mother is weak. Childbirth is a battle all its own.

Gudrun tends to me; she forces me to drink a cup of warm goat’s milk, infused with honey and herbs. I am so tired I do not protest; I lie on the soft bed prepared for me and watch as Gudrun and Asgerd wash the baby and wrap him in fresh linens.

Erlendur bends down to kiss my forehead. He cannot stop smiling. “I am so proud of you. He’s perfect. Thank you”.

I am too tired to even reply. Gudrun hands the child to Erlendur. In the moment Erlendur takes our son in his arms, I see him fall completely in love with this new life. He holds the boy so I can see him properly.

Erlendur is right; he is perfect. So small and delicate. His face sports lovely features; I am certain he will look like his father. But his hair is dark as mine, in straight black fuzz, with fine down covering his arms and legs. Everything from his straight little nose to his tiny pink nails enchants me.

“He is a healthy boy. Once you’ve both rested a bit, you can hold him and nurse him” Gudrun says. She leaves us for a bit with our child; our first moments as a family together.

I reach out to stroke the tiny cheek, amazed at how soft his skin is. He looks at me with huge dark eyes. I am certain they will be blue, but whether a deep, dark blue like mine, or a light blue like Erlendur’s, I don’t know.

I look to Erlendur and notice a glistening in his eyes. “Are you…crying?” I ask gently.

Erlendur sniffs and blinks. He cannot wipe his eyes since his arms are full with the baby. “Of course not!” He makes a scoffing noise, but it is obvious he’s lying. I try to hide my smile. I find it so touching that Erlendur would be moved to tears over the birth of our child.

Then I remember how he lost his family, his parents and siblings. When he came here, he had nothing but a sword, and the clothes on his back. Now, he has a family again. Of course this would be an emotional moment for him. Thinking about it makes tears come to my own eyes.

Erlendur smiles down at our baby, then at me. “I think I’d rather go through a hundred shield-walls than watch that again. It was terrifying”.

“You were terrified?” I ask in surprise.

“Of course. I couldn’t stand seeing you in so much pain, knowing there was nothing I could do”.

I reach my hand out and lay it on his arm. “Thank you for being with me”.

He leans forward, careful of the child, and kisses me deeply.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

After the birth Erlendur and my father go out and slaughter a pig to sacrifice in thanks for the child and safe labor. The smell of roasting meat for a celebratory feast wafts back into the room where I cuddle my son.

Gudrun instructs me on how to hold and nurse him. He takes to my breast without any difficulty. Watching my child as he suckles, I realize I didn’t know just how much love and joy I would feel afterwards. I spent the last few months fretting over the birth I had not stopped to ever consider how much happiness it would bring me after. I am alive; my son is alive and strong. We have much to thank the gods for.

After nine days, Erlendur takes the baby and sprinkles him with water as part of his naming ceremony. Often, one waits a few days to see if the child will survive and appears healthy. In unfortunate cases, a sickly child may be exposed—left outside or tossed in a well to die. It seems a cruel practice, but in reality it is difficult for a sickly or deformed child to grow up. We live in a harsh world. It is seen as better to return a child to the gods, then for them to struggle and likely die. Once the child is given a name, though, they are a member of our community. To expose them afterwards would be considered murder. But our son has been healthy and strong from the time he was born. We do not even consider that possibility.

Erlendur cuddles our son and speaks to him. “My father was King Horik and my mother Queen Gunnhild. You have the blood of kings and warriors in your veins. But you also have the blood of your mother’s family. They are just as great and honorable. And I know you are going to have a great future, my son”.

Jorunn crouches down to examine her new nephew. “He is so adorable! What are you going to call him?”

Erlendur and I exchange a look. We discussed names the last few days, and it did not take us long to decide. Erlendur had a name picked out for a long time. When he told me why, I immediately agreed.

“I had an older brother. He and I were very close, the best of friends. I don’t think I’ll ever be over losing him. But I decided long ago, if I ever had a son, I would name him after my brother to honor him. So he will be called Ari. Ari Erlendursson”.

Ari squirms against his father’s grasp. He is less interested in a name than he is getting fed. I take the baby to put him to my breast.

Erlendur puts his arm around me and I cuddle Ari to my chest and suckle him; the three of us our own little family.


	19. The Gods are Fickle

I stand at the door of the hall, surveying the work going on in the yard. A cold wind forces me to pull my woolen shawl tighter around my shoulders. The past week has been full of cold and heavy rain and thunderstorms. My father insists these are good signs from the gods, that Thor himself is celebrating our good fortune by sending the rains to water our fields.

He says the gods have blessed us in many ways. In the weeks following Ari’s birth, there were many other lives arriving on the farm. Most of the ewes born twins, the goats and cattle were all relieved of their pregnancies. Our herds have doubled. The large herd of sheep promises a vast amount of wool to be spun and woven; it is likely we will have extra to trade.

On alternating weeks, there was warm sun shining over the fields, and then great showers of rain to water them. The crops were already sprouting. Around the fire at night, the men joke with Erlendur that he has brought potency to the farm. He laughs along and holds Ari in his arms with pride. It is a promising year.

I turn and wander back into the hall, seeing the one thing that dampens my joy. Gudrun is packing her belongings. She stayed with us through much of the winter, helping me deliver and care for my first child. But her own children need her, and she is returning to the village, to them and her husband.

“I wish you didn’t have to go” I tell her.

Gudrun looks up from fastening her pack. “I’m not going very far. You can always come into the village and see me”.

“I know. I just—“I bite my lip, ashamed for acting like a child when I am a married woman and mother myself. “I understand now how difficult it must have been for you to leave your children behind these last few months. Please don’t think I’m not grateful; I am. I just worry about carrying for Ari. He’s only a month old, and—“.

“Brynja,” my sister interrupts in a soft, but firm tone. “You are going to be fine. You are a good mother. And there are plenty of servants to help you. Don’t feel you have to do everything”.

I nod in acknowledgement. I had mistakenly thought once I’d borne my child, I could throw myself back into all the regular labor a farmstead demands. I had no idea how exhausting the days following a birth would be. It seems I am constantly interrupted in my work to nurse my son.

Our younger sister, Jorunn, comes into the room. “Ukkr is here. He came to fetch you himself”.

The words are barely from her mouth when Gudrun’s husband enters. He throws his arms open in invitation. Gudrun dutifully embraces her husband.

“I missed you, wife” Ukkr says, stroking her cheek. “The bed has been so cold this winter without you”.

“Well, I am coming home now and you will not have to suffer another night”. Gudrun smiles as she speaks, but I cannot help but notice flatness in her tone, and that the smile does not reach her eyes. I cannot help but wonder if she is not as happy in this marriage as she claims to be.

We all bid our farewells and repeat our thanks. “Remember, you are always welcome to come see me” Gudrun says as she hugs each of us in turn.

I hurry back into the house as soon as their wagon reaches the front gate. I go straight into the back room where Asgerd is tending Ari.

“I can take him,” I hold my arms out for my son. “There is dried laundry hanging outside that needs taken down. It looks like it may rain”.

Asgerd silently hands the child to me and leaves the room. I sit on one of the benches and cuddle Ari to my chest. In the weeks since his birth, his hair and eyes have lightened; I am starting to suspect he will have Erlendur’s blond hair and pale blue eyes, rather than my darker looks.

Ari gurgles contentedly in my arms. I rock him back and forth, cooing. I am so distracted I don’t hear anyone come in.

“I wondered where you went”.

I tear my eyes away and look up to see my husband in the doorway. Erlendur is leaning against the frame, his arms casually crosses over his chest. The sleeves up his undyed woolen shirt are rolled up, exposing his muscled forearms.

“You miss her already?”

I nod to the child in my arms. “I’m afraid I can’t do this on my own”.

“You’re not on your own. I’m here. Your father. Jorunn. The servants. No one is expecting you to care for a child and run the household single-handedly”.

I think of what Gudrun said to me. “I know. I just need to keep remind myself I don’t have to do it all”.

Erlendur moves to sit on the bench. He caresses Ari’s soft cheek. “I came to tell you—your father and I have been discussing another raid for this summer. I plan to go into the village soon to meet with the others”.

“Do we need another raid?”

Erlendur shrugs. “It’s been a while. And I am not hopeful about this year’s harvest. It’s been too wet”.

“It will be months before the crops are ready” I point out.

“Plenty of time for things to go wrong” Erlendur smirks.

I roll my eyes. “How optimistic you are”.

………………………………………………………………………………………………..

With the arrival of spring, I reach my twentieth birthday, and sometime after that, Erlendur and I celebrate our first year of marriage. Ari, now two months old, is growing quickly. Thankfully, he is still healthy and strong.

I accompany Erlendur into the village for the talk of the raids. Many of the villagers are gathered in the communal hall. Drinking horns are filed with ale. A low fire is banked in the central hearth to ward off any chill from the spring air.

I’ve brought Ari with me, as I can’t leave him for more than a few hours for nursing. This is his first trip away from the farm. I settle in a corner of the hall, where I hope to be out of the way. No one wants a crying baby interrupting their discussions.

“Brynja!” I see Halla coming towards me, carrying her own bundle.

“Halla! How are you? Is this Ingimund?”

My friend beams. “It it” She proudly shows me her son. Ingimund is a little bigger than Ari, being a few months older. He has adorable chubby cheeks and intelligent eyes.

“He’s adorable. He looks like his father” I compliment her.

“Thank you. And who is this?” She coos the last sentence to my child.

“This is my son, Ari”.

“He’s precious. How has motherhood been for you? I feel all that’s changed is the baby’s gone from my belly to my chest. He never stops wanting to be fed!” Halla laughs.

“I knew it would be a challenge, but I never realized just how much. But I’m managing”.

“You look wonderful. Your figure has returned so quickly! I’m envious”.

I glance down at my body. My breasts are still larger than before since I am nursing, but much of my body has returned to how it was before. I shrug. “Farm work”.

Halla laughs. “I’m still envious. I’ve been delivered longer than you, yet I feel I’ll never have my body the way it was before!”

It’s true; Halla’s figure is rounder than before, especially in the hips. But the look suits her. She looks like a radiant new mother and I tell her so.

Her face beams brighter than the hearth fire. “Thank you, Brynja. You always have something kind to say”.

We make our way to Halla’s home, where there will be more privacy, and less worry of the babies interrupting. Neither of us particularly cares to hear the events of a raid we will not be on anyway.

“Did you see Freydis in there?” I ask as we settle ourselves and our sons by the hearth.

Halla’s face darkens. “No, but I made no effort to look”.

“Halla!”

“I’m angry with her, Brynja! She never sees me anymore; she barely paid any attention to Ingimund’s birth. She has become so…so wrapped up in being a shieldmaiden and being with Thora…And I hate Thora!”

“Hate her?” I pour each of us a drink and hand one to her.

Halla takes a long drink before she answers. “She monopolizes all of Freydis’ time. If she’s not training, she’s with her _friend_. I know what she really is”.

“I…don’t understand” I say slowly.

Halla scoffs. “Yes, you do. In one of the rare times I saw my sister, she told me. I know how she prefers women. I know you know about it. You’ve known since my wedding!”

“Halla…I’m sorry I never said anything. I thought Freydis needed to be the one to tell you”.

My friend lets out a deep breath. “It’s not you I’m angry with. Perhaps at first, I mean, for not saying anything. But I understand why you didn’t and I’m glad to know you’re loyal enough to keep a secret”.

“Have you told anyone?”

“Gods, no! Do you know how people would react to…” Halla takes a deep drink and smoothes out her skirt. “I do not think I approve of Freydis’ lifestyle. But I will acknowledge that it’s her life and her decisions. I just worry. I don’t think what she’s doing is normal. Not just the…women-thing, being a shieldmaiden as well. It’s like she’s a man in a woman’s body”.

“Halla! She is your sister. Do you really think you should be judging her life if it makes her happy?”

“You are one to say that! How often have you ever approved of Jorunn?”

I gasp in outrage. “That was completely different! Jorunn was in a dangerous situation and she didn’t even consider how it would affect her family—“

“Do you think Freydis going into battle isn’t dangerous?” Halla’s voice is raised. “Do you think my family wouldn’t be affected if people knew about her…her preferences?”

Shrieking interrupts us. Both babies have begun to cry. I gather Ari into my arms and rock him to stop his tears. Halla is doing the same for her son.

She puts him to her breast. We sit in an angry silence for a moment as we calm our children.

“I’m sorry”, Halla says. “I didn’t mean to yell. I worry for her though”.

“I understand. I worry for my sister, too. And you are right; it was hypocritical of me to accuse you when I’ve done the same with my sister”.

Halla changes the subject. “Is Erlendur a good father?”

I smile, relieved to be on a more pleasant topic. “Oh, yes! He’s wonderful. He loves Ari so much. He makes him little toys; he’s already planning on teaching him fighting and wants to get him a pony!”

Halla smiles as well. The tension of our fight seems to be evaporating. “That’s good to hear. He’s a little small to fight or ride a pony, though. Is Erlendur aware?”

I laugh. “He says his father put a wooden sword in his hand the day he was big enough to walk on his own without clutching his mother’s skirt. I suspect he’ll do the same for Ari”.

“I would rather my son not be a warrior. I would be just as proud if he were to be a merchant like his father, or even a farmer or craftsman”.

“We live in a dangerous world. Even if he never went of raid, surely he should learn some fighting?”

“Well, it’s too early to think about these things in any case”. She changes the subject again. “There will be sacrifices made for a safe journey. Do you plan to stay?”

……………………………………………………………………………………………….

The weeks pass quickly into summer. Soon the men are gone again on another raid, to the east this time. Sindri heard from a fellow merchant that the tribes people were hoarding silver and that their young men and woman sold well as slaves.

On the farm I have little time to think about it. Harvest time is approaching fast; I hope the men return in time.

Erlendur only expected them to be gone a month at most, but the weeks pass with no news they’ve returned. I begin to lie awake at night, wondering where in the world they are.

A month passes, then another. The men left at the beginning of summer; we are nearly to the beginning of harvest season, and soon after that, winter will be here.

Unable to take the suspense, I make my way into the village myself to see if the men have returned. Sometimes, Asgerd comes with me to help with Ari. Perhaps I should leave him at home, but I know Erlendur will want to see him at once.

Finally, one day as we ride into the village, I see our ships sail. My heart leaps with joy and relief. I urge my horse forward towards the docks, leaving Asgerd behind with Ari.

Something is wrong. There is no joy in the men on the ship, no shouts of greetings like normal. They are silent and downtrodden.

The men get off the ship and I see two of them bearing a third on a stretcher. The raiders bear bloody wounds, hastily wrapped in linen and ripped cloth.

My heart drops into my stomach like a stone. My blood seems to turn to ice; I cannot move, only gape in horror.

Erlendur is the one on the stretcher.

I do not scream or run to him; I stare as my husband’s body is borne past me. His eyes are closed; he does not move. Rough bandages are stained red with blood. The only consolation is his chest is still moving, just barely.

Grimar comes up to me. His normally cheerful face is bleak. A bloody bandage is wrapped around his forehead.

I finally find my voice. ‘What happened?” It is more of a croak than my normal voice, but that is all I can muster.

“We were having a successful trip. We’d gone along southwest, towards the Baltic lands. We were traveling along the coast for a good few weeks, and gained a great deal of plunder”.

I interrupt, my fear driving me to anger. “What happened to _my husband_?”

Grimar swallows. “We were returning, less than a day’s sail away from home. But it was getting late and the ship was battered from a rough sea. We decided to make camp on the beach to tend it and return home in another day”.

“That night, we were ambushed. I don’t know who it was who attacked us or why. They were not Norse, I’m sure. They looked more like the Baltic tribesmen we’d fought earlier, but it was too dark for me to tell”.

“Erlendur fought fiercely, of course. He was ganged up on by several of the men. It was impossible for him to fight them all at once. He was injured, but…you would not want all the details of the fight, I’m sure”. He avoids my eyes.

“Later” I say. “I need to see Erlendur”.

I order Asgerd to look after Ari while I go to tend to my husband. I hurry back into the village and run for Gudrun’s. Ukkr is there, gathering knives and heating them for cauterizing.

“Your husband is there” Ukkr points to a small house across from them. “Gudrun may be with him”.

I barely get out any thanks before running in that direction. It is a small house, not unlike the one Gudrun and Elof used to live in. A fire has already been lit in the hearth; an iron pot holds boiled water. Erlendur is lying on a small bedplace in the far corner.

Atli’s wife is there. I know her name, yet in my worry, I cannot recall it now. “His wounds were tended after the battle, it looks like. But they need properly cleaned and stitched”.

I force the lump in my throat down. My eyes cannot leave my husband. “I’ll...I’ll do it myself”.

She nods. “I’m sorry. I…” She must see the tears forming in my eyes. “There is vinegar and boiled water for cleaning. The needle is already sterilized”.

She leaves me alone with my husband. With legs that feel leaden, I move towards the bedplace and examine his wounds. There is a cut on his right thigh that looks as if it’s already been cauterized. A long gash runs horizontally across the center of his torso. A rough bandage was wrapped around it; thankfully, this wound is shallow. There are other wounds, cuts and abrasions along his chest and arms, but these do not seem as serious.

We’ve been married for a little over a year. I have never even considered the possibility of being widowed so soon. Not now. Not after we’ve had a child and have been so happy. In my joy, I have mistakenly assumed it would last forever, as if our troubles were over.

I wipe at the tears and take a sip of ale. I will need steady hands to stitch his wounds. Using the vinegar and boiled water, I clean the wounds as gently as I can. I carefully stitch his thigh with silk thread and apply a salve to the wound on his chest before wrapping it in clean linen. I wash the other wounds, applying stitches to cuts on his arms.

Asgerd finds me some time later. She sets Ari up in a makeshift crib, using a crate and clean furs. We reverse our work. I go to sit and nurse Ari while she prepares salves for Erlendur’s chest and broths to fight fevers.

Ari is six months old now and not nursing as heavily as he was before, thankfully. I had hoped to keep him at my breast a full year but this situation could force me to wean him earlier. A few months before, I worried over how to care for my child. Now I worry how to tend my husband as well.

I lose track of time in the little house. In the passing days, I feel I’m in a dream. A terrible dream. It is a dark and lonely time, tucked away in the small house, with just my injured husband, my baby, and a slave woman.

Gudrun comes by one day to check on Erlendur’s progress. He’s spent much of the time sleeping. When he is conscious, he does not seem to remember what happened or realize where he is. Asgerd or I force broth down his throat to fight against fever.

She brings solemn news. “Ebran is dead” she announces.

I look up from tending Ari. “But he didn’t go on the raid!”

“Not from injuries, Brynja. He’d been ill for a while. Since last winter. He tried to hide it, but…”

“How is Ukkr? How are Halla and Fryedis?”

“They’ve lost a father and a brother”.

“I will have to go see them. Give them my condolences”.

“I will pass them on—“.

“No! I mean—I’d like to get out of this house for a moment. You understand?”

“I do. I can watch them for a while”.

I pull Gudrun to the side. “Thank you. And I want to ask before I go. If it’s possible, I want to take him back to the farm. Our father will need help through the winter, and—“ I have to take a breath and force the next words out. “If Erlendur does not…I’d rather he be at home, if…” I cannot be say the possibility out loud. Tears form in my eyes and I blink them back.

Gudrun wraps her arms around me. “He’s doing fine. It will take his a while to recover, but I think he will live”.

I wipe at the tears on my cheeks. “Are you sure?” I cannot help but feel she is only saying this to comfort me; she does not sound sure.

“Give him a few more days. If he continues to improve, I think it would be alright to take him home”. She places one hand on my shoulder and tilts my head up with the other. I am forced to look into her eyes. “He will be fine”.

Yet her words do not comfort me.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

I hurry through the village to the blacksmith’s forge. I don’t know if I would be welcome while the family is in mourning, but as I plan to return to the farm in a few days, I may not have another chance to see them before winter begins.

As a child, I had sometimes come to this house to play with my friends. It had seemed a cheerful place. Now, the house seems dark and bleak.

I am stunned to see Freydis open the door. Her face is pale; her eyes rimmed red. Her blond hair falls loose over her shoulders, and she is in a simple woolen dress rather than trousers.

We stand in the doorway and stare at one another for what seems like a long time.

I finally decide to break the silence. “Gudrun told me about you father. I’m sorry”.

“I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry about Erlendur. And I’m sorry I haven’t been a good friend”.

I recall the argument I had with Halla. “You told your sister? About you and Thora?”

“I did. She took it as well as I expected”.

“Freydis, she loves you. You’re her sister”.

“She doesn’t understand! She doesn’t agree with how I choose to live my life!”

“She may not approve, but I think she understands. I’ve talked with her and—“

“Oh, of course, you’ve talked with her! You’ll share all your secrets and conversations with each other!”

I know I should be considerate; Freydis is in mourning. But her words anger me. “You have always been welcome, Freydis. Neither of us have ever wanting to stop being your friend; _you_ are the one keeping away from us!”

“You’re both the same; with your men and your babies! That’s not going to be my life! I don’t fit in the same world you and Halla do! I don’t want to. I know you don’t like how I am; even when you pretend otherwise. It disgusts you; I know it! I’ll pass your condolences along.”

And she slams the door in my face. I can only stand there, stunned. Freydis has never acted in such a way. Her words make no sense. It is as if she’s taken everything and twisted it.

I try to remind myself that Freydis is mourning her father. People often do not act themselves where they are angry or scared or grieving.

I go back to Erlendur, hoping I will not be in mourning soon myself.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

We return to the farm a few days later. I insist on riding in the wagon alongside my husband. We have laid soft furs and blankets in the bottom to cushion the journey. I check on his wounds, nervous over ever bump in the trail, but a m relieved to see his stitches hold.

The day we return to the warm is sunny and warm, a beautiful summer day. We ought to be out in the fields gathering in the harvest now. As we reach the farm and travel the path up to the hall, I notice something odd. There is hardly anyone in the fields. It takes me a moment to understand. The crops are not the way they should be. They are damaged.

My father answers my question the moment we arrive at the door. “There will not be much harvest this year. There’s been too much rain. There is a black growth on the rye; it is ruined”.

“Can anything be salvaged?”

He shrugs. “The straw is good enough for thatching, but there is nothing for eating”.

I try to think. “The herds are in good condition. Even if there’s not much crop, at least we’ll have meat and wool”.

“But the herds will be no use to use without the hay to feed them in the winter. We’ll have to slaughter all but the best cattle. We can’t afford to feed the whole herd.

I grimace. It looks like we will be feasting this winter on salted and smoked meat. There will not be much for bread; without the harvest of rye, there will be no grain to mill into flour.

I have Erlendur settled in our room and go to check the food stores. We have some grain, enough to last us until winter, but not all the way through it. We were relying on a good harvest. In a few weeks we can slaughter the cattle that we cannot afford to feed and have plenty of salted or smoked meat. There are some dried herbs and I can always send Jorunn to gather more. The vegetable garden fared slightly better; at least there are some carrots, turnips and such. We can harvest and store them. There is honey to make ale. I don’t believe we will starve this winter (provided we eat a lot of stew), but we will have to ration our winter supplies.

The Gods are fickle, and now they are testing me.


	20. She-Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning: there is some violence in this chapter. Also, my birthday is this weekend, so if you want to leave reviews, that'd be a great present.

I am desperate. My husband is injured, our crops are ruined, and I don’t know how we’ll make it through the coming winter. The Gods reversed our fortunes suddenly and now we’re going to plea for it back.

My father selects a large white goat from our herds. We will make a sacrifice on behalf of ourselves and the villagers and hope the Gods take pity.

Every year before planting begins we would hold a ritual to ask the Gods for a good year. We prayed for fertility for our herds, good health for ourselves, for peace and prosperity. But at times like these, the Gods refused our prayers.

In the yard’s outdoor cooking pit, we line stones and heat them. That night, we gather in the yard, my family, our workers, even our slaves. One of the men leads forward the goat my father had selected earlier that day.

I hold Ari in my arms and watch as my father picks up the long knife. The killing is almost always done by the highest ranking person; in this situation, my father. If we were in the village, one of the elders or the _gothi_ might perform the task.

My father holds the knife aloft; it’s steel blade gleams from light of the torches.

His voice rings out over the crowd. “Hail the Gods. Hail Thor, and Freyr. We ask for your blessings. We ask that you reverse our fortunes, to heal our wounded, and return the bounty of our fields. We plead to you, oh Gods, and we offer you this sacrifice!”

In a swift motion, he slices the animal’s throat. The blood is immediately caught in a large wooden bowl. Using bundles of fir branches, we flick the blood onto one another, as was done at my wedding. Servants take the bowls of blood to pour them on the fields. The blood is also smeared on the doorframes of our homes and stables.

The meat of the goat will be cooked in the pit with herbs for flavor. We will feast on it tonight with ale. Following tradition, there should be another sacrifice and feast to mark the beginning of winter, but it may be the midwinter Yule celebration before we can spare enough for another feast.

I take a small bowl of blood into our room where Erlendur has been sleeping. I dip my fingertips into the blood and gently trace healing runes on my husband’s forehead.

Erlendur stirs against my touch. “Brynja?” His eyes flicker open.

“I’m here” I say softly. I grasp his hand. “It’s alright”.

“Everything hurts” he groans.

“I know” I whisper, using my other hand to stroke his hair. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine”.

Erlendur nods as if he’s heard me. Then he sighs and shuts his eyes. Soon, he is asleep again.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

A few weeks have passed since the men returned from the raid. Erlendur’s condition has improved, but he is still weak. I give him herbal drinks Gudrun taught me to brew. They will help him to sleep and recover more quickly.

One day, I am in the hall alone save for my husband, child, and a few slaves. My father has gone up into the summer pastures with some tenants to drive the cattle down to the farm. He will then decide which ones to slaughter this winter. Jorunn has gone into the woods to gather nuts.

Ari has just gone down for a nap and I have settled in the main hall to work on my spinning. The sheep were sheared earlier this summer. The large flock that had seemed like such a blessing in the spring is now exhausting. There is even more wool than ever to spin and dye. I suspect many winter nights will be spent weaving.

A knock at the door startles me out of my thoughts. I expect a servant to answer it. No one does and another knocks rattles the door. With an impatient sigh, I set down my work and go to the door, silently cursing the useless servants Hakon had kept.

I am stunned to see a tall, dark-haired woman at the door. “Thora! What are you doing here?” I cannot recall the last time I saw her. It is so strange to see her or Freydis without the other anymore.

Thora gives me a sad smile. “I’ve come to talk with you. About Freydis. Do you mind?”

I hesitate. I don’t know Thora very well, but I recall a long time ago when she told of Freydis’ desire for us to all be friends. How long ago that seems! I cannot help but wonder if Freydis would still want it now.

I realize I have been standing with the door open for a while, gaping at her. I flush and open the door further, stepping aside to let her in.

“Of course not. Come in”. I usher her inside. She sits on a bench by the hearth. I pour ale for each of us and take the chair opposite her.

Thora takes her cup from me and takes a drink. “Thank you. It was a long way here. The ale is refreshing”.

“You’re welcome. Now, please tell me, how is Freydis?”

Thora is quiet. She seems to be searching for the right words. “Freydis is…troubled. You see, she’s gotten the impression everyone around her is judging and disapproving of her life. She feels very alone”.

“But it’s not true” I argue. “I’ve tried to reach out to her. She was never around. She spent all her time with you”. I recall Halla stating her hatred of Thora, and suddenly, I hate her too. “You’ve kept her away from us!”

Thora’s eyes widen. If they grew any bigger they’d cover her whole face. “No! I _tried_ to talk to Freydis, I swear! She is so stubborn, you know”.

I cannot argue with that point.

We fall into a brief silence. I don’t know this woman well enough to be comfortable in it.

Thora breaks the silence. “How is your husband? I heard he was injured on the last raid”.

“He’s improving. It may be a while before he’s back to his original condition, but he’ll live”.

A muscle twitches in Thora’s cheek. “How fortunate. You must be so grateful”.

“I am”. I shift in my seat and sip my ale. Thora stares at me with large, unblinking eyes; her gaze is unsettling.

“It’s so terrible how the men were attacked” Thora is saying. “And I didn’t think the Wends ever ventured this far west”.

“Yes, it’s…” I stop. Something about what she’s said does not seem right. “How did you know who attacked them?”

Thora’s eyes widen again. “Oh, that’s just what I’ve heard in the village. Rumors, I suppose. People like to make things up when they aren’t sure”.

“I spoke with Grimar when the ship docked” I say. “He was certain he didn’t recognize them”.

Thora shrugs and takes a sip of her drink. “Perhaps someone else did”.

There is something in the way she replies that raises my suspicions.

“Thora” I say casually as I can, “you don’t happen to know anything about the attack, do you?”

A slow smile spreads on her face. In that moment, her entire demeanor changes. When she speaks again, her voice is different, slower, smoother.

“Oh, Brynja. I was hoping you’d catch on”. She sets her drink down. “I know all about the attack, because I’m the one who arranged it”.

Her words are slow to sink in. _Thora_ caused the attack? She is the reason my husband is lying helpless in our bed? I am too stunned to grasp this claim.

“You’re shocked, of course. I understand. Perhaps it will all make more sense if I explain from the beginning”.

Before I can make any reply, she settles herself in her seat, and begins her story.

“It started years ago, with Hakon. He’d been approached by King Harald. The king needed men for his army, to take over all of Norway. Harald spent a few days staying in this very hall, where Hakon lavished the best he had to offer the king”.

“Harald and Hakon negotiated, because Hakon would never do anything for another man—not even a king-without a price. Harald offered a jarldom to Hakon if he agreed to supply men and supplies to the king’s army. But when Hakon couldn’t provide what Harald asked, he decided to look elsewhere”.

As she speaks, my mind flashes back to the night Hakon had attempted to arrange a betrothal between us. It seems so long ago now. He’d told me he’d been in negotiations with the king, that he might become an earl. It seems this is what he meant.

Thora continues her story. “Hakon was always greedy. He had everything and always wanted more, especially if it was something denied to him. He wanted that jarldom, that power. I convinced him to get it”.

“Hakon had no respect for any woman” I interrupt. “How did you convince him of anything?”

The smile on her face widens. The sunlight brimming through the windows casts unsettling shadows against her face. “I always had a way with Hakon. I was the one woman he didn’t want or need physically. I’m his sister”.

The announcement causes me more shock than before. “You’re lying”.

“Oh, no. My real name, my birth name, is Ylva. You see, our father, Hrafn, was as much a whoremonger as Hakon; he had to get it from somewhere. My mother was one of his slaves”.

Her face darkens with emotion; a painful edge comes into her voice. “I was treated as a slave, a piece of property, by my own father! Hakon dismissed me as a slave as well; the only reason he never pursued me is because our father made him aware of who I was. Our father wanted to free my mother and marry her, as a second wife, but Yngvild forced him out of the idea. I could have been so much more than a slave”.

“I hated my father. I hated my mother for being as weak as she was. I especially hated Yngvild for treating me as less than dirt. She couldn’t stand that her husband would rather take slaves to bed than her”.

“Hakon was an exception. I was, perhaps, one of the few people he was kind to. When our father died, and he took over the hall, he promised to free me. He promised to treat me as his own sister and give me the life I’d been denied”.

I shake my head. “What does any of this have to do with us? Yngvild is dead, your father is dead”.

Thora looks smugly proud. “And I took pleasure in poisoning her!”

Any color that might have been left in my face is certain gone. “She didn’t take the poison herself?”

Thora—Ylva—scoffs. “Of course not. But we’re getting ahead of the story”.

“Hakon and I made a deal. I convinced him to take over some neighboring land. Land meant crops and produce, which meant wealth, which mean more men paid to fight, which would lead to Hakon supporting the king and getting more power and land for himself. At least, that was the plan. Hakon promised me life as a free woman, as well as a share in the wealth”.

“Hakon wanted to make me his wife”. I say. “I suppose that got in the way of your plans?”

Ylva shrugs. “Erlendur got in the way, without even realizing it. But you? Well, Hakon did most of his thinking between his legs anyway. Once he decided he wanted something, he didn’t like to let go”.

“He was smart enough to settle on taking your family’s land, given the animosity between our fathers and grandfathers, it seemed perfect. And he might have done it on the first attack, if Erlendur hadn’t been there”.

“I knew that Hakon had his mind made up. If he wanted you and the land, we needed to get Erlendur out of the way. But we knew no more about him than you did. So, I offered up myself as a spy. I knew going into your family’s household would be too close, too risky, so I settled for a friend”.

Understanding dawns on me. “Freydis” I gasp.

“Yes. I let myself be “sold” to Sindri as a servant. Since he was set to marry Halla, and the two of you were such good friends, I thought this might be a good place. That, and Sindri is a merchant with a lot of connections. I knew being in his household would pay off somehow”.

“And it did. Freydis was never part of my plan to begin with, but fit herself in perfectly. I was able to befriend her, and through her, you and Erlendur. I was the one who let Hakon know when the raids would be, when the men would be gone, which was why he was in the woods that day he attacked you. And I was the one who told him that you and your sister survived the fire”.

“And Freydis? Did she know what you were doing?”

Thora—no, Ylva—laughs. “Gods, no! She never had any idea. I was manipulating her from the start. She hated that her twin was getting married. She was so lonely, with her big dreams of being a shieldmaiden. I pretended to sympathize with her; I listened to her. Even you were getting so wrapped into your on life, falling in love and not even realizing it, that you didn’t even notice your own friend slipping away!”

Her words feel like a slap to the face, and a deserved one. How could I have been so blind? “So you never cared for Freydis at all?”

Something shines in her eyes. Remorse? But then her gaze hardens and shadows sweep over her eyes. “I did what I had to do”.

“She wasn’t even ill during that raid last summer, was she?”

“Well, a bit. Your sister’s not the only one who knows herbs. She’d been starting to get a little suspicious of me and my interest in your family. I had to keep her near me for a while, until I could get back in her good graces. She’s always so desperate for validation and I can be _very_ persuasive”.

Anger begins to burn my cheeks. “Ylva. She-wolf. How appropriate a name for a bitch. I suppose your plans were ruined with Hakon’s death?”

A muscle twitches in her face and I know I’ve struck her in a weak spot.

“Not ruined. Just inconvenienced. Hakon let his own arrogance and greed be the death of him. But I wasn’t going to let it stop me!”

“I still want the life I was denied. I knew if I could gain control of the hall, I could offer Harald what he needed myself. He’d be in no condition to refuse, even from a woman, not if he wanted his throne. So I decided to take it back myself”.

I force myself to speak calmly, despite all the fear, anger, and shame building inside me. “Well, it has taken you long enough. We’ve lived here over two years now”.

Ylva smiles and then I see it. The wolf-grin. The same one Hakon terrorized me with. “Haven’t you heard that the longer the revenge is drawn out, the more satisfying it is? I knew it wouldn’t be possible to attack so soon after. I contemplated doing it while you were with child. I could have made it look like such a tragedy. And don’t worry, I’ll be sure to arrange it that way today”.

I feel fear seeping into me. My voice is steadier than I expected. “So, you’ve come here and told me all of this just to kill me?”

“Yes, and when I’m done, I’ll get rid of your husband, who’s conveniently indisposed—thanks to the Wends I paid off—and then your child”.

I have tolerated this woman long enough. I am capable of staying calm when she threatens me, but not my husband or son. I swing my hand forward and strike her across the face with all the strength I can muster.

I have never struck anyone before; not even Jorunn in her brattiest moments. My hand stings from the effort, yet I feel a strange sense of satisfaction.

Thora—no, Ylva—falls from her seat and staggers back from the blow. She recovers her balance and looks up at me, a mix of shock and amusement on her face. Then, much to my discomfort, she starts to laugh.

“See, I knew it. I knew you couldn’t be as sweet and nice as you seemed. Everyone has a breaking point, Brynja, and you seem to be reaching yours”.

“I reached it as soon as you threatened my husband and child. And I think you’re delusional”.

Her face contorts from amusement to anger in an instant. “You don’t know what it’s like to grow up a slave! You had a family, a father who loved you...”

I speak in a softer tone, as if calming a wounded animal. “Thora, Ylva, whoever you are, you don’t have to do this. I’m sorry for your fate. You were born and raised a slave. You’re right, I don’t know what that’s like. But do you really think you’ll gain anything, especially happiness, by murdering a family?”

Ylva’s face softens. I think, for a relieved moment, I may have gotten through to her. But her face contorts back into a snarl just as quickly. In a swift moment, she pulls a knife from her belt and lunges at me.

I barely have time to leap to my feet and try to evade her grasp. She manages to grab a fistful of my hair and brings the knife towards my throat…

I have no time to think. I swing my arm backward and manage to drive my elbow into her stomach. The force is enough for her to gasp and loosen her grip to where I can break free.

Instinctively, I start to flee for the bedrooms, to Ari and Erlendur. But that would only draw her closer to them. I need to keep her away.

I run towards the back door by the storerooms. I hear her snarling behind me. I throw myself around a corner and behind a wicker wall to catch my breath and think.

It is too quiet and I strain to hear her follow me. With a sinking feeling in my chest, I realize she’s not fallen for my trick after all. She’s gone back into the house.

I run back inside, my heart pounding so hard I swear I can hear it. Who would she go after first? Erlendur or Ari?

Erlendur. He’s caused her more harm. Of course, she’ll want to do away with him first.

I hurry into our bedroom and see Erlendur—still miraculously asleep, thanks to Gudrun’s medicines—but no Ylva. I run to the next room where Ari’s cradle is…and see Ylva standing over it, her knife raised. The slave girl tasked with watching him is lying motionless in the corner.

“No!” I scream and lunge toward her. I have no weapon of my own, no way to stop her, but my only thought it to keep that blade away from my child.

I grab her wrist and jerk her backwards, away from the cradle. Ylva twists in my grasp and brings her free arm forward, striking me in the face.

My cheek burns and I lose my grip on her as I fall against the wall. I try to get to my feet and fall back as a firm kick is directed into my side. I gasp for air and force myself to look up at the she-wolf standing over me. If we are going to die today, I refuse to look like a coward.

Ylva appears pleased. “You’re making this far too easy for me, Brynja. If you happen to see my brother, do tell him I said hello”.

“You’re brother is likely freezing in the farthest corner of Hel” I snap back. I lunge at her with enough force to knock her to the floor. The knife clatters to the floor beside us. Frightened by all the noise, Ari begins to scream and cry.

I have no weapon, so I claw at her face. Seeing my child about to be killed has driven me wild with anger. His cries only fuel me.

Ylva brings her knee up and drives it into my abdomen. I fall to the side and clutch where I was struck. Freed from my weight on her, Ylva tries to grab the knife, but I am closer and reach it a moment before she does. Ylva grabs my hair as she’d done in the hall earlier and jerks my head back. I twist against her grasp, unable to break free. I keep my grip on the knife as tight as I can; I cannot risk her getting the weapon.

With her free arm, she wraps it around my neck, squeezing against my throat. I strain against the pressure and struggle for air. My back is pinned against her chest. I do not know if the racing heart I feel is mine or hers.

Desperate, I turn the knife in my hand so the blade faces away from me and I thrust it behind me as hard as I can. I hear a shocked gasp in my ear. The grip on my throat loosens.

I pull from her grip and turn to see Ylva clutching her side…the knife sticking out of it. I have managed to drive the blade into her side, just below her ribs.

Ylva falls to her knees, clutching her side. Blood seeps between her fingers. I step back, my eyes never leaving her, and pick Ari up from his cradle, should we need to flee. The unconscious slave girl is gone. Likely, she came to and already fled the room.

Noise coming from the doorway forces me to tear my eyes away from Ylva for a moment.

Erlendur is standing there, a long knife in his hand. He is pale, almost as pale as the white linens used to bandage his wounds, but his eyes are alert. The slave girl peers from behind him.

Seeing his father, Ari stops crying and points. “Da-da” he says.

Erlendur’s face brightens. He steps towards, ignoring the bleeding woman on the floor.

“Hi, little man. Are you alright?” he asks, far too calm considering all that’s happened.

I nod to indicate we’re fine; my throat is too sore and dry to speak.

Erlendur finally looks down to Ylva, who is whimpering in agony. He gestures for me to move towards the door. “Go. I can take care of her”.

I don’t dare argue. Clutching Ari to my chest, I quickly leave the room. I can hear Ylva’s tortured gasps behind me.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………..

I remain in the main hall, clutching Ari to me. I cannot believe I may have lost him so suddenly.

Erlendur comes limping in some time later. There is blood on his shirt and hands. Somehow I know it’s not his.

“Is she..?” I cannot bring myself to ask.

Erlendur nods. “I told you I’d take care of her”. He sits next to me and puts him arm around my shoulders, holding both of us close.

“Did she hurt you?” His voice is even, but anger tinges it.

I shake my head no and lean against his shoulder. “I’m not the one she hurt”.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

Freydis arrives not long afterwards, sobbing and apologizing. She’s throws her arms around me, tears streaking her face.

‘Gods, I thought I was going to be too late! She—Thora—said she was going to see you, and I knew something was wrong. I think she drugged me; I would have been here sooner!”

She stumbles over herself trying to explain and apologize, eventually settling for tears. I’m not angry with Freydis. From the beginning she’d been cruelly manipulated and used by someone she thought loved her. Not one of us ever expected Thora to be anything more than she appeared.

When her tears ease up, I sit Freydis down with a strong drink and explain what happened between myself and Ylva.

………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Even as the weeks pass, I sometimes struggle to sleep. I have dreams of a shadowy figure standing over my child and husband, ready to rip them from my grasp. Some nights I wake trembling, or even screaming, and Erlendur pulls me back down onto the bed and holds me against his chest. I listen to the sound of his heartbeat, remember that he is still alive, and let it lull me to sleep.

Some nights we do more than just hold one another. Erlendur is well enough, and I realize how much I missed the physical closeness of him. It seems between Ari’s birth and nursing, the raid, and Erlendur’s injuries, we’ve not done much lovemaking in the past months. Some mornings we wake more tired than when we went to bed, but much happier.

The winter passes quickly, despite our struggles with the crops, and soon spring is fully arrived. Perhaps the Gods had heard our please after all, since the winter was unusually mild compared to last year.

The yard is warmed by the afternoon sun as we take Ari out to play. Erlendur is recovered, well enough to run around and let Ari try to chase him. At just over a year old now , Ari is walking well. He giggles and shrieks with delight as he plays, oblivious to the danger he was in a few months ago.

I think back to that horrific time. My nightmares finally ceased, but I know the effects Ylva had on us will never truly go away. Freydis had been horrified by the reveal that Thora’s real name was Ylva, and that she was Hakon’s half-sister. She’d cried some more and begged for me to forgive her. I assured her there was nothing to forgive.

 

I don’t know how much Freydis told Halla, if anything. I know at some point they must have talked, because a few weeks ago I saw them in the village, walking through the market together. I’d like to ask if and how they’ve repaired their relationship; though I know it is not all my business. But seeing how they walked together, laughing and smiling as they hadn’t done for so long, I think they have.

My thoughts are interrupted as Erlendur throws himself onto the grass next to me. Giggling, Ari follows as fast as he can and tumbles in to Erlendur’s lap. Erlendur scoops him up with a playful growl and lifts him into the air. Ari squeals in response.

I smile at the carefree joy on their faces. “You’re a wonderful father” I tell him.

Erlendur looks pleased with my praise. “At times like this, I feel like one”.

“You are”. I glance at him from the corner of my eye. “Do you think you would want anymore?”

My husband’s eyes light up. “More children? Gods, yes!”

“Good”. I lean forward to kiss him on the cheek. “Because I am with child again”.


	21. A Very Different Yule

The months have flown by. We are a few days into the Yule celebrations. The first snow of winter fell two weeks ago, but inside the hall it is warm and bright. Around the hall, greenery is strung in the rafters and around the pillars. The Yule Log burns proudly in the center hearth.

The tables are loaded with food: spit-roasted pork and beef with juniper berry glaze. Breads and cakes, freshly baked and drizzled with honey. Dishes of goat cheese, nuts, and pickled vegetables. Stewed venison from a successful hunt earlier in the winter. Two kinds of ale and beer.

My family mingles with our tenants and their families, all invited to join in the celebrations. Some members of the village have even made the journey to celebrate with us.

Halla and Sindri were unable to make it, but I understand. A few months prior, they welcomed their own second child, another son named Kjartan. Gorm has come to our celebrations, though his wife Sigunn is nowhere to be seen. I will not even pretend to be disappointed. I do notice, though, that Gorm has two servant girls sitting on either side of him, at the table where he’s drinking with his cousins, Atli and Asvald. He has his arm around one woman, and both are laughing. The other woman is running her hands through his hair. Though I have no reason to like Sigunn, I feel a bit of sympathy for her as well as annoyance at Gorm. I contemplate speaking up about it, which I would think would be in my right to do so, given this is my home. But it is Yule and what Gorm does in his marriage is no concern of mine.

I am glad to see Gudrun, her husband, and children made the trip from the village. Ukkr is laughing as Grimar defeats another man in humiliating fashion at an arm-wrestling contest. The men are all slightly drunk, but in good spirits. So long as no fights break out, it should all be fine.

I see Gudrun chatting with some of the farmer’s wives, while Tyrgve and Kari run around the hall and play with the tenant and slave children. Jorunn is across the hearth, dancing with some other girls. I catch her sending a few amorous glances towards a handsome boy I recognize as the son of a local shipwright. I will have to ask her about this. I want my sister to be happy, but I don’t want her to make another mistake as she did with Hakon.

Having overseen all the preparations for the celebrations, I sit on a bench to the side of the hall, and survey my work. Faces are flushed from warmth and drink. The hall glows from the light of the hearth and various torches and candles around the room. Music and laughter fills every corner. I am pleased with how well everything has taken place.

The newest member of our family squirms in my arms. “Unna” I coo to my daughter. At the sound of her name, she stills, looking at me with wide blue eyes.

She was born just a few days before, at the beginning of the Yule celebrations. Our little gift from the Gods.

“Have I mentioned you look beautiful?” Erlendur is standing in front of me. I hadn’t even heard him approach. The dark green tunic he wears looks wonderful on him, especially against his blond hair.

I survey my own red dress. I made both our outfits with cloth from last year’s successful gathering of wool. “You may have mentioned it” I respond now to his question and smile. “But you can always tell me again”.

Erlendur smirks and sits next to us. “Hello, princess” he croons to our daughter. I smile at his sweet pet name for her.

He holds out a cup of ale. “Trade?”

I gratefully hand Unna over to him and take the cup. “Thank you. She can get heavy after a while”. I lean back, my arms relieved of their bundle for a moment. I am still slightly sore from the birth and nursing. Thankfully, this pregnancy and labor were somewhat easier than my first. It helped that I knew what to expect.

“I think Freydis has a type” Erlendur says, after a moment of silence.

I frown. “What do you mean a “type”?”

A grin forms on his face. “A type of woman. Tall. Brunette. Associated with Hakon”.

My frown deepens. I follow Erlendur’s gaze across the hall. Freydis is leaning against a pillar across from us. Asgerd is next to her. They are both laughing.

“Asgerd and Freydis? Are you sure?” I can understand if they have become friends, but I am skeptical. Though it has been over a year since the incident with Ylva, I don’t know if Freydis is over the hurt. She was manipulated and lied to by the woman she loved and she thought loved her back.

As if knowing what I am thinking, Erlendur says, “She is getting better. She’s learned from it”.

I take another drink and shake my head in disbelief. “I would be so afraid. I don’t know how I could ever trust someone again”.

“It’s painful. It’s hard to trust after a betrayal like that…” Erlendur’s voice trails off. He shakes his head, as if trying to clear it. “Freydis is fine. She’s happy. Perhaps she and Asgerd are only friends, but Freydis will be able to handle herself when she enters another relationship. She’s strong”.

“I don’t think she’s ever told Halla everything. Come to think of it, how was Ylva’s death explained? I never thought to ask”.

“I told Sindri the truth; what you had told me about her. It was easier than trying to fabricate a lie. He was shocked, but we agreed to let Freydis tell Halla”.

“And if she never did?”

Erlendur shrugs. “It isn’t really any of our business anymore”.

We fall back into a comfortable silence. My husband rocks our daughter back and forth. I silently appreciate his good way with children.

“You’re a wonderful father”.

He pulls his eyes off Unna’s face to look at me. “You tell me all the time”.

“Because it’s true”.

Erlendur kisses Unna’s forehead. “We have it easy. Our children are good. Unna rarely cries and Ari is well-behaved for being not quite two”. We both look to where my father is proudly toting his second grandson around in his arms.

“Thank the gods, then” I tell Erlendur.

“Oh, I do”. Erlendur falls silent for a moment, a faraway look in his eyes. “It’s Yule”.

“Are you just now realizing this?” I tease. My smile fades when I see the serious look on his face. “What is it?”

Erlendur swallows and looks pained. “It was Yule—it must be four years ago now—that my first wife left me”.

I stiffen at his words. Erlendur never brings up his ex-wife. She had an affair with another man and left him a long time ago. “I thought you’d moved past that”.

“I have. When it happened, I felt like I had no future, nothing in my life to look forward to. I was angry and bitter and hated the world. And now,” he smiles at me, a soft, sweet smile. “Now I have you, and our children. We have our life together and I’m happier now than I’ve ever been. You saved me, many times”.

It takes me a moment to grasp these words. “You’ve saved me, too, you know. If it wasn’t for you I might have given up, given in to Hakon a long time ago. I might be living in this hall, but I doubt I’d be as happy”.

“Do you remember the battle we had with Hakon?” Erlendur asks. “You commented to me afterwards that I didn’t seem like one who believed in fate. At the time, I think you were right. But when I look back on everything that’s happened in my life, I can’t help but think…perhaps it was all fate. Everything that’s happened in my life has brought me here. To you”.

“You really believe that? That we were fated to meet?”

“Yes. I ended up at the stream where I did because you were meant to find me there. The shipwreck that brought me to Norway. All of it. The Gods led me to you. Everything was fate. So now, instead of being angry with the Gods for my fate, I thank them for it”.

I lean over and kiss his cheek. “Tomorrow night is the midwinter sacrifices. We will have to be sure to let them know”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. We've reached the end (for now). Thank you to everyone who has read and commented on this story. 
> 
> Be on the lookout for the sequel! I hope to have it posted in a few weeks. Working title is "Kingdom of Wolves".

**Author's Note:**

> Thank to everyone reading this story. Feedback is always appreciated.


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